I've been saying for absolute eons that we don't need GLAAD, the Gay and Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation. (Could there be a more ridiculous name for such an angry group?) They're such bitter old queens. What's the problem? I've never had any problems with homophobia here in my Miami Beach florist shop, and I suspect a lot of those scary stories have sprung from the overactive imaginations of lonely fairies who have seen too many Bette Davis movies.

I mean, look at Jim Carrey in "I Love You Phillip Morris" and Adam Sandler in "You Don't Mess with the Zohan." They're both playing homosexuals, and if these characters don't look exactly like us I'll eat my tangerine beret.

Jim is faultlessly dressed for a Labor Day tea dance, with the deep V-neck accenting those carved pecs. I've searched for decades for a gold lion's head belt buckle, and I'd blow Mel Gibson to get a pair of sunglasses that chic.

Adam, on the other hand, perfectly reflects the fairies' playful side with a Care Bears t-shirt and Daisy Dukes cut to the wazoo. I wish I knew his hairstyling secrets: it takes me four hours and half a can of Aquanet to get my (eek! thinning!) locks half that high! He's outdoors on some adventure but he's still got his hairdryer and pinking shears. It's only funny because it's true!

I know you're all sitting there with your mouths open, because it's like looking in a mirror. Somehow they've stumbled upon the very definition of gayness, circa 2008, and I give them two snaps up for that. Though if either has twin Pekineses named Rock and Cary I'm calling my lawyer, I really am.

So, somebody tell GLAAD to dry up and fly away, because real gay people have finally made their way onscreen. It's time to put down those angry banners and stop chanting, and have a celebration for once. Girlfriend, pass the lube and the poppers. But watch out for the caftan -- it's silk.