Pushy Bottom

Blanche, the New Rose

2006-01-17T13:09:00.001-05:00

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)

2006-01-02T09:12:00.000-05:00

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"

2005-12-27T14:08:00.000-05:00

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:

HOMO TRICK
(noun)
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

2005-12-22T11:45:00.000-05:00

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

2005-12-20T13:27:00.000-05:00

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

2005-12-20T08:23:00.000-05:00

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

2005-12-19T10:15:00.000-05:00

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

2005-12-18T11:35:00.000-05:00

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...

2005-12-14T17:32:00.000-05:00

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.

OKAY, WHAT IS THE PROBLEM WITH THESE PEOPLE!?

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

2005-08-24T12:52:00.000-04:00

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…”

Well. Optimism is always nice, but give me a hundred fucking breaks. Maybe you haven’t noticed this, Garrison—o bespectacled soothsayer, o chronicler of civic center barbecues and apple pie and star spangled banners and church picnics—but WE DO NOT ALL AGREE on the above point. I could provide the links here to back it up, but I don’t feel like Googling them all, and anyway, I’m sure that everyone except you has heard of freerepublic.org, Michelle Malkin, Focus on the Family, the American Family Association, Exodus Ministries, the Heritage Foundation, Phyllis Schlafly, God Hates Fags etc etc vomit vomit etc. Now, I don’t know for sure if these folks’ opinions on “gypsy musicians” has been documented—I wouldn’t be surprised if it has—but I can say with great certainty that they are very clear on their stance re: the grand ol’ crazy quilt of American Diversity and Freedom. They hate it. Yes, that’s right: MICHELLE MALKIN AND ALL OF HER FRIENDS HATE FREEDOM. Just like Those Muslims do!!!

Now those folks are one thing. We expect them to be bigoted assholes because, well, that is their job. And who am I to criticize the grand ol’ crazy quilt of American Enterprise and Hateration? Everybody’s got to make a living. However, it is the fake-o, smarmy, so-called “tolerant” folks such as those folksy folks Garrison and Dear Prudie who really make me furious. Despite their constant posturing as diversity lovin’ Care Bears—Prudie was a flower girl in a sensibly chaste gay wedding, you know—they are incredibly quick to show their true colors:

The good Republicans of Mitchell are not above having fun, and this flamboyant oddball in their midst was Not A Problem. It was a pleasure. One shouldn't generalize, but that is what columnists do, so I will: People enjoy oddity and flamboyance, even if they won't say so (not wanting to encourage their own children), so long as it's amiable and not defensive…
What we don't need is Too Much Information. There really is no need for a unit on Orangeness in the Mitchell public schools -- let's focus on math and English composition and American history and leave Orangism to be discovered later.

Ok, I now give everyone a moment to kill themselves in total disgust.

I had the bad fortune to read this piece right after reading the hilarious and illuminating interview with Paul Lynde’s biographers, which Salon ran yesterday, and the contrast was incredibly ironic.

Paul Lynde, naturally, was the “flamboyant oddball” (read: out-of-control fag) best known for his star turn as Gay Center Square on the classic, pre-Whoopi incarnation of HOLLYWOOD SQUARES. Of course, with his wacky, coded, buttsex jokes and self-loathing, closety rage constantly bubbling just below the surface, Lynde was the toast of good ole folksy American living rooms everywhere. After all, Homosexuals, in all their Flamboyance, can be incredibly funny and colorful just as long as they are not trying to kiss their husbands during their comical gay wedding ceremonies!

Of course, as the article points out, Paul Lynde lived a pretty miserable life, and the reason is clear. Yes, he may have been genuinely hilarious, but his job was to be the butt of the joke for a pre-AIDS, 1970s audience—to whom faggotry amounted to a disgusting, perversion that was just sick enough to be pretty fucking funny, and just funny enough to only be fucking sick if you had to think about it for more than five seconds!

Garrison Keillor’s essay clearly endorses a return to these simpler, more homespun days—when gays and other “flamboyant oddballs” were content to serve as minstrels and court jesters rather than demanding an actual place at the table, or bothering anyone with the kinky, poop-smeared details of their filthy private lives. Ah, the seventies truly were the days. Patty Hearst, Jim Jones, WAYLAND FLOWERS AND MADAME… I wish I had been born around to enjoy it all.

Unfortunately, things have changed. THESE days, Keillor cunningly points out (without actually saying it), fags and other freaks/people you see on TV are outrageously demanding such absurd courtesies as equal treatment in the public school system! It fails to occur to him that “flamboyant oddballs,” might occasionally ATTEND public schools, and therefore have every right to be acknowledged as human beings, not to mention, you know, educated.

But that is probably me being “defensive!” Well guess what: I have tried “amiability” and it is a total trap. Gary Bauer and Dr. James Dobson are not amiable. They are terrorists who hate America, hate freedom, hate me, and probably hate those cute little Gypsy musicians, too! This is no time for messing around, and it’s incredibly offensive for Keillor to command that “flamboyant” folks everywhere shut up and start dancin’ to preserve the congenial, down-home atmosphere of his annual church bake-sale.

Lake Wobegone must be such a fun little hamlet. Despite the political differences of its judicious, God fearing citizens, they are willing to accept just about any old folks who are going to make their town just a little bit more darn COLORFUL! Just be sure that you don’t drop the softball with that limp noodle wrist of yours. Losing is no fun for the community! And, whatever you do, don’t let anyone get wind of where you hang your hot dog at night. After all, that’s not colorful, it’s just sinful and revolting! Note: These small towns can be mighty gossipy, so be sure to cover your sticky, AstroGlide tracks well…

In good ol’ Lake Wobegone, a jester is always welcome as long as he knows he’s not really welcome. HA HA HA!

(note: my Internet BFF, Josh at Fagistan, put it more succinctly than I did...)

The Mangina Monologues

2005-07-28T13:47:00.000-04:00

Don't get too excited, but everyone's favorite gay Republican is back in the game. Viva la Rockville.

Well Jack Be Nimble Jack Be Quick Jack Go UNDER the LIMBO STICK! Limbo Limbo How Low Can You GO!!!! Those are the words of the “Limbo” song which is a popular game that is played in Jamaica, Puerto Rico, Africa and many other of Those Countries and it is a game that LIBERALS love to play. They sure have been playing it a LOT lately too! In that game, you have to get under a stick by bending over and walking very LOW. Well I know that Liberals sure like to BEND OVER if you know what I mean (LOL) not that there’s anything “wrong” with that I should know.

Mangina Dentata

A New Grandma in Town

2005-07-22T22:50:00.000-04:00

O Hillary. Who would have guessed that you were such a prig after you rubbed that nice lesbo’s head and everything?! And to think that I defended you. I should have known better. First you start chilling with Newt Gingrich. Now this. Maybe you and Dear Prudie should start some kind of sewing circle for uptight old fishwives.

When are these annoying middle-class moralists going to learn? Yes, ripping on (pick one: video games, movies, The Simpsons, teen blowjob parties, Slap Bracelets) may score some quick, cheap political points with vapid, out-of-touch Million Mom March types who have no room left in their brains for anything beyond their childrens’ incredibly complex carpool schedules. But go to that well too many times, Hillary, and you come off looking like a fascist and an idiot. Ask poor Tipper! It happened to her!

Yes, I know it’s hard for hypocrite baby-boomer Laydies of the Cul De Sac to wrap their heads around the fact that some things in the world—even video games—were not intended for the purpose of entertaining Little Zachary/Zoe. We are, after all, talking about a generation too technologically confused to figure out which button to press to answer a cell phone. But can’t we please leave the censorship and Family Values pyrotechnics to the despicable right wing inquisitors and prissy republican girlymen who are so good at it?

I guess that’s too much to ask for; after all, there are vacuuming hausfraus to be pandered to. So chalk one up for the rising Granny State. This explains why New York is starting to smell like moth balls, lavender water, and Glade plug-ins.

Happy Gay Shame From the Mean Landers

2005-06-15T13:24:00.000-04:00

Ok, I know it is too much to expect SLATE to be good. Everyone knows that it is the most boring online publication of all times, even if they try to disguise that fact by running the same (boring) stories a trillion times with a bunch of DIFFERENT semi-intriguing headlines to try to trick you into clicking on something you already fell asleep while reading (twice). But it’s one thing to be dull and another thing to be vile and bigoted. In honor of Gay Shame Month, I would like to direct your attention to this column by the loathsome dilettante known as DEAR PRUDENCE (aka Margo Howard), in which she advises a lesbian inquiring about proper protocol for girl-on-girl handholding/cheek kissing:

If you know someone who might be discomfited by seeing two girls display physicality, skip it. As the erudite Roger Rosenblatt has written, "If you find yourself making accommodations, that does not make you a hotel." In this case, it just makes you thoughtful.
--Prudie, Prudently

O man. What a phony, hateful bitch! To think this is the daughter of Ann Landers and the niece of Dear Abby. Thanks for ruining the family legacy, asshole! Anyway, I wrote her a crank letter and what she wrote me back made me vow to stop reading her column for life. Of course, now I'm even more obsessed with reading it, because I love to torment myself, but whatever. Here is what she wrote to me.

I am going to copy you a letter I just sent out. I think it speaks to your points. I hope you will consider it.
and I hope I am not making a mistake by using my personal e-mail. I would not welcome further argument about this.
MH
_________________________________

I am going to answer you personally because I got much disagreement on this answer - and your letter was one without insults or profanity. I mean, some of the letters could give gay guys a bad name ... [uh oh... I think she's talking about me!]
as to the points you raise: perhaps one part of the misunderstanding was that I had originally written "tough neighborhoods" instead of
"homophobic environment" which my editor substituted. so let's go with my original language. the onus would be on the gay couple because there is no way to put it on the homophobes! especially in tough neighborhood, two guys holding hands would be like poking a snake. it may be lower class macho thinking, but it is real, nonetheless. let us be realistic. not everyone thinks homosexual relationships are fine. this recent political juddgernaut [ed note: she puns too! Clever!] is quite explicit about this. when you ask why should a gay couple care about people being discomfited by same-sex physicality, here's one example. I was a flower girl (honest. and surely the oldest in matrimonial history) for two close, gay, male friends. I thought they wisely did not kiss at the alter [sic] because one of the groom's 83-year-old father was present. their consideration for the old gent's feelings I thought admirable. THEY knew that such an in-your-face gesture would have been a beat too much. I talked with the father later (whom I'd met previously) and said, "I know this must be kind of difficult for you," and he said, "Well, of course, but what am I going to do? Disown him?" and I can tell you that this old gent has been very loving and welcoming to his son's boyfriend for years -- but you must acknowledge that, even for people of goodwill, it can feel odd.
my credentials with the gay community are pretty good and I have received kudos for being supportive. I have always been for acceptance and integration. I think there will come a time when there is nothing second-class -- or unusual -- about same sex couplings; we're just not there yet, and I think it behooves you trailblazers to have people think of you as thoughtful and considerate to aid the change in thinking.
as for interracial couples -- in certain settings -- they would, indeed, be smart to not flaunt the romance. I guess what I'm saying is that to look for trouble is not smart, and neither is it helpful to "the cause." that is not the way to break down the barriers.
and your tone was not unpleasant, at all. (see above re most of the letters ...) [ed note: me again]
I hope my position is a little clearer, and you are a little less disappointed in me.
best,
MH

Because kissing at your own wedding is such a political “in-your-face” ACT-UP type gesture. Ugh. I could say a lot about this-- my original email to Prudie was long and crazy and I’ve since come up with about ten more reasons why her advice makes me want to kill myself-- but in the end I think her sanctimonious bigotry speaks for itself. I bet that as she was creaking/skipping down the aisle scattering those beautiful rose petals, the only word going through her mind was: SODOMY. SODOMY. SODOMY. I wonder if she wore a ribbon in her hair.

Anyway, it’s not like anyone takes anything on Slate seriously, but still. Advice columnists, especially ones pretending to be open-minded and “Prudent” have a lot of power. And as we learned from SPIDER-MAN, with great power comes great … something. I forget what, but the point is that I'm sure a few people will actually listen to this douchebag and get the impression that her advice is tolerant, wise, and sensible. Puke, puke, puke.

I’m glad I wasn’t at that gay wedding. Could the GROOMS’ names have been CHAD and BRAD, by any chance?