I liked Mike Jones (pictured below). He's the dude who took down evangelical leader Ted Haggard. Sure, Mike's a hustler . . . but who else are you going to find exposing right-wing hypocrisy? Professional tap dancers just don't get through all those closed doors.

Now, though, comes startling news. According to Queerty, Michelangelo Signorile is reporting that Senator Larry Craig "put his tongue up Jones' butt hole."

Oops. Should I have warned you first?

I have a few problems with this disclosure. First, I don't like people playing "Can You Top This?" with themselves. It looks desperate, and cheap. It reminds me of Paris and Nicole coming back for another season of The Simple Life: "We're going to be really stupid this year!"

Second, how is it Mr. Jones just happens to have sex with every famous closeted Republican? It's like an arsonist turning up at every fire. He's become the gay Al Sharpton, lurking in the shadows, ready to jump up at the hint of scandal and shout, "Hey, he did me too!"

And last, did we really need to know the details? Let's compare and contrast Jones with a heterosexual hooker, Ashley Alexandra Dupré. We thought she was trash, walking the streets in sequined hotpants. But did she dish the details? When she talked to the press, did Eliot Spitzer's pasty white ass become a permanent mental picture in our minds? No, he's out of office, she got a book deal, and everything's right with the world.

If Mr. Jones is trying to expose hypocrisy, saying they had sex is enough. Further details cloud the waters. Is he going for shame? Is he bragging? Telling the world that another right-wing Republican is a hypocrite helps us. Announcing "And he's not just gay -- he's a buttlicker!" doesn't exactly swing new heteros over to the cause.





I'm on the second DVD of Mad Men, and I absolutely love it. Those ad dudes are confident and crazy and farther out there than Motörhead. They wake up to a tumbler of Scotch and a cigarette, spend the day drinking, smoking and bullshitting, and pass out in the wee hours of the morning with a nightcap in one hand and a secretary's bra in the other.

And they still weren't strange enough to create a commercial for gum where the flavor lasts so long somebody actually has to punch you in the stomach to get you to spit the old piece out.



The first time I saw this I thought WTF? A scantily-clad wrestler follows a dude to a supermarket to bear-hug him, forcibly pressing clueless white dude flesh against sweaty middle-aged muscle?

It's like they've found a way to look into my dreams.