"Hustler" publisher Larry Flynt told CNN that he's offered accused child killer Casey Anthony more than $500,000 to pose nude for his magazine.

Flynt said his offer came after men from coast to coast expressed interest in seeing the party girl get naked. The response from other quarters has been, shall we say, substantially less positive.

Well, call me a pervert, but I'd sure like to see her baby-feeders.

Oops. Sorry. How insensitive of me. Make that "bazongas."

I caught a sneak preview of Crazy, Stupid, Love, and I have to say it was terrific. There was sound and color and motion and I learned so much about women from the film.

(1) Women are totally interchangeable sex objects who spout inanities before they take off their clothes.

(2) Deep down, women just aren't interesting, so they're smart to stay in the kitchen or other places where guys aren't having fun.

(3) Women are turned on by honesty. Really, this was the funniest bit. See, Steve Carell isn't used to dating, so he doesn't know that dudes are supposed to lie to chicks. He tells Marisa Tomei exactly what he thinks -- and she loves it! Honesty is to her like gigantic tits are to men. Really, the way she squeals and shudders in response to anything correct it's like it directly stimulates her clitoris. It's hysterical. You think Steve Carell is being stupid, and he's going to drive her away, but to the contrary! Marisa can't control herself in the face of honesty. He says stuff like "My wife will shit a brick when she finds out I fucked you!" and "Christ, your butt is the size of a tractor-trailer!" and "New Tide with Zout gets tough stains out!" and before he knows it she's grinding on top of him.

Sure, it seems pretty crazy, but it makes total sense. Because as the feminist movement has told us, women are tired of being lied to. They appreciate honesty. And this film has apparently realized it's a fail-safe method to get a chick in the sack.

Anyway, have a good weekend. I think mine's gonna be off the hook. There's a chick outside gathering signatures for PETA and I'm pretty sure if I tell her granola bars look like turds to me she'll blow me right on the spot.

Humor for Daniel Tosh Fans

There’s a new doll entering the toy market called Breast Milk Baby. In addition to the doll, little girls and boys get a halter top that they can wear, with two flowers that symbolize breasts.

As the doll’s mouth is brought to the flowers, it makes a sucking sound, as if it is drinking milk. Afterward, the doll cries until it is burped.

“The whole purpose behind a doll is to pretend like you’re a parent,” said Dennis Lewis, a representative for Berjuan Toys. “The dolls are meant to just let kids play as mommies and daddies naturally.”

This is ridiculous. What kind of crazy message is this teaching our kids? Little girls don't have tits! And if you don't have tits, nobody's going to fuck you.

And yes, we want to teach our kids that babies suck on flowers. So ten years from now we'll have a whole generation of moms who just shove their kids in a rose bush whenever it cries.

But I absolutely draw the line at a boy having this doll. That's just insane.
I mean, if they want something to suck on them and then cry until they hit it, they should get girlfriends.

Artist's Renderings Vs. Reality

The Verdi boutique condominiums are a modern complement to the rich history and lush streetscapes of Fort Greene, Brooklyn.

All units have unique outdoor spaces including large terraces, oversized balconies and landscaped gardens. Rear duplexes feature stunning double height ceilings overlooking the landscaped gardens. The private floor penthouses have keyed elevator access that opens into the unit and large terraces. Located just three blocks from Fort Greene Park and in walking distance to the large and growing number of shops, café's, restaurants as well as BAM's cultural districts theatres and galleries. -- Artist

Wow, those condos is sure classy. I don't think I've ever seen such -- hang on a sec. DUDE, I'M NOT FUCKIN' TELLING YOU AGAIN. DON'T REMOVE THE 4 SALE SIGN.

Is love forever? Sometimes, but it'll never last as long as a tattoo.

In the season premiere of L. A. Ink, Kat Von D surprises fiancé Jesse James with a tattoo on her left side that is his face from a childhood photo.


Even before the show airs, though, the pair break off their engagement amidst rumors of his infidelity.

Of course, Kat's a spunky girl who doesn't dwell on the past. In a postscript to the show, we see she's already gotten a neat coverup.

Artist's Renderings Vs. Reality

The Borders bookstore in the East Liberty neighborhood of Pittsburgh has been awarded the LEED Core Certification by the U.S. Green Building Council. This project is one of the first LEED Gold certified projects in Pittsburgh and also among the first LEED Core certified projects in the country!

The Design Alliance Architects developed a number of green features in the project including:

• Rainwater from the building roof is piped to an underground cistern that eliminates the need for municipal water for irrigation.


• Nearly all of the construction waste was recycled.


• The development has strategically located bike racks around the site to encourage alternative transportation, and a shower room available to employees.

-- Artist


Bushes like being in pots, asshole. -- Reality

Trying to use the free WiFi at McDonalds? Here's a handy brochure.


The two pages on the left are packed with instructions for folks using Windows. And on the right, there's three simple steps for folks with Macs.

Isn't that ridiculous? Like people who eat at McDonalds would own Macs.

Well, I guess it was inevitable. I'm actually getting irritated at somebody preaching tolerance.

The woman behind Raising My Rainbow has a "slightly effeminate, possibly gay, totally fabulous son." (She remains anonymous to protect him.) C. J. loves pink. C. J. steals clothes out of Mom's closet. C. J. demands a Barbie doll instead of a G. I. Joe. Needless to say, C. J. gets a lot of strange looks when he's out in public. While strangers yell that Mom needs to butch up the kid, she defends him, applauding his unconventional choices and creating a storm of controversy that propelled her all the way to the Today show.

Needless to say, the gays have been cheering her along.

With the latest blog entry, though, Mom starts to wear out her welcome. Her tone has changed. Is she being supportive of a girly-boy, or is she, well, egging him on?

He liked the feel and fabric of this number. The long sash in the back sent him over the edge. It was originally the shirt from a boy’s Arabian Nights costume, but that’s not how C.J. prefers it.

He marched himself straight to the garage and found some rope. He cut it with blunt scissors and made me tie it at the waist. Hello belted shirtdress!

See, she loses me here. She's talking about an oversized shirt, tied with rope. Doesn't that make it a tunic? I mean, picture this scene in Sherwood Forest:

ROBIN HOOD: Okay, Merry Men! Methinks it's time to earn your keep. Yon fanciful carriage approaches: everybody put your belted shirtdresses on.

Here we have C.J. wearing a Valentine’s Day-themed dish towel as a stylish heart-flecked skirt. After sneaking a belt from his brother’s room he held the towel up to his waist and insisted that I belt it around him.

St. Valentine himself would be proud.

Oh, puh-leeze. It's a tea towel and a belt. How do you know he wanted to make a skirt? Maybe it's a big loincloth. Until he actually adds pleats, darts or ruching, the jury is out. Because, you know, it's not particularly easy to grab a tea towel and a belt and make pants.

My main complaint here, though, is that C. J. had access to anything in the house. And instead of going into Mom's closet and getting that glittery belt with faux-gold coins that all females seem to own, he went into his brother's closet to get a brown number from J. C. Penneys.

Sure, the kid isn't totally at the end of the Masculinity Scale, but he ain't making it into my Fabulosity Club.

Needless to say, now I'm second-guessing the whole situation. C. J.'s been finding all sorts of odd, effeminate things in the house. I was an effeminate kid growing up among heterosexuals, and I have to tell you, the pickings were slim. Unlike C. J., I never found a big pink pair of bath poufs to play cheerleader. I had to make my own pompoms out of discarded copies of Reader's Digest.

Which is probably why the whole thing strikes me as suspicious.

Anyway, I breathlessly await further chapters. Next week, will C. J. stumble upon somebody's metallic cone bra in the trash? Or will Mom continue to feminize behavior that could be perfectly male? Like, the first time C. J. tries on a bowler hat, will she scream, "Look out, Liza!" and teach him Jazz Hands?

Could You Write Country Music For a Living?

The band Rascal Flatts just released "an emotional tribute" to Caylee Anthony called "She's Going Places," and it's shooting straight up the country music charts. "Do they have some bizarre God-given musical talent?" you ask. "Did they sell their souls to Satan in exchange for superlative songwriting skills?" I say no! I say anybody can write a hit country tune, provided they know the rules:

1. Write about white people.
2. Write about America.
3. Wildly careen from happy to sad.
4. Make sure to include God!

In fact, I'll prove it to you. Set the timer: you have four minutes to write a hit country song about Caylee Anthony entitled "She's Going Places." I'm thinking Rascal Flatts probably whipped theirs out in under three minutes, but hey, they're pros.

Okay, time's up. Here's my entry:

----------

For nine long months this pretty white girl
made her plump white mommy sigh.
But then she was born and she became
the apple of her white daddy's eye.

She's going places, this pretty white girl
she's got a great future ahead.
She's going places, this pretty white girl
that's what everybody said.

Though her brain stem wasn't developed
her personality rang like an alarm.
She definitely would have waved the old red, white and blue
if she'd had muscles in her little white arm.

She's going places, this pretty white girl
she's got a great future ahead.
She's going places, this pretty white girl
that's what everybody said.

But one day she stopped tickling her Elmo;
her Barbie laid like a dead trout.
The courts couldn't decide what happened,
but maybe Nancy Grace will find out.

She's going places, this pretty white girl
she's got a great future ahead.
"She's going straight into my big white arms!"
our white male God just said.

-------------

So, whaddaya think? Thanks! Where's your song? What? You don't have little Caylee going to heaven? Look, it's called "She's Going Places" -- what'd you think, she's going to Disneyland?

Oh.

Well, you're not necessarily doomed to minimum-wage employment. Look for my forthcoming piece called, "Yo Yo Yo Could I Write A Hit Rap Song?" next time I'm in the hizzouse.

Rick Santorum and Oral Pleasure

Two seconds later somebody tweaks his nipple and he takes the whole thing in his mouth.

How hot is it? Even my boat is staying out of the freakin' water.

Arizonans Whacked By Enormous Haboobs

And they're not happy about it.

The National Weather Service has a name for particularly thick dust storms that sweep through dry, dusty states: haboobs. This year, though, the use of that term by Arizona weathermen has stirred up a storm of controversy almost as thick as the capricious haboobs.

Diane Robinson of Wickenburg, Ariz. says the state’s dust storms are far different from Middle Eastern ones. “Excuse me, Mr. Weatherman!” she cried in a letter to the editor. “Who gave you the right to use the word ‘haboob’ in describing our recent dust storm? While you may think there are similarities, don’t forget that in these parts our dust is mixed with the whoop of the Indian’s dance, the progression of the cattle herd and warning of the rattlesnake as it lifts its head to strike.”

Don Yonts, a resident of Gilbert, Ariz., hasn't read quite as many Harlequin romances. He just doesn't like Americans using Arabic words. “I am insulted that local TV news crews are now calling this kind of storm a haboob,” he wrote to The Arizona Republic. “How do they think our soldiers feel coming back to Arizona and hearing some Middle Eastern term?”

Just out of cultural sensitivity, I think we should address their concerns. It's easy enough to make up a new word that keeps the original word's feel while losing its foreignness. "Dustitties" and "sandumplings" spring to mind. I'm pretty sure our returning military men and women won't have problems with either of those. Besides, once they spot one of these massive parchachas aimed straight at their heads, I think they'll have other things to worry about.

I've been using Spotify for a week, and I think I'm ready to weigh in. I was sucked into the elitist hype and expected something really cool, but instead I think it's barely so-so. Their catalog is seriously lacking, with just one or two lame records by some important artists. (Really, nothing by Isaac Hayes over ten minutes? That makes some of his albums six minutes long. And, uh, no Led Zeppelin?) The free version has inexplicable time limits, and lots of inane commercials. And supposedly you can't listen to a song more than five times.

The program doesn't seem particularly smart, either. After I spend an hour telling it I like Camille Saint-Saens, Dinah Washington and Joy Orbison, their ads suggest I give a listen to Pitbull (featuring Enrique Iglesias).

On the plus side, it's kind of fun when they randomly interrupt the music with commercials. When Chris Brown broke in at the end of Madame Butterfly, I totally got why she wanted to stab herself.

A cartoon published today in a Rupert Murdoch newspaper is incensed about all the media coverage the Rupert Murdoch phone-tapping hearings are getting. Gosh, the Murdoch press wonders, why are people so ridiculously fixated on a tiny conspiracy that prompted the head of Scotland Yard to resign?

The cartoon, titled "Priorities...," thinks this relentless coverage is diverting attention away from more important topics, like African famine.

Really? African famine? Dudes, at least try to sound a little believable.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: chicks on the subway are nuts. A guy can't even floss his teeth in peace.

Bill Gates thinks the modern-day flush toilet isn’t good enough. Most of the developing world can’t afford to use it, and poor sanitation spreads diarrheal diseases.

So the Gates Foundation is challenging universities to build a better toilet—latrines that are hygienic, generate energy and don’t require running water or a septic system. The foundation is giving $41.5 million toward that end, and proposals include toilets powered by solar panels, heat, or microwave.

Supposedly the microwave method works pretty well but the spinning makes everybody sick.

Christ, why the fuck do ex-lesbians feel the need to share their stories? And why does the New York Times print more articles about ex-lesbians than current ones?

In Sunday's New York Times there's a miserable piece by Karen Hartman that's ostensibly about how Vermont lets any LGBT folks marry but won't let them divorce unless they live in the state. Which naturally turns Ms. Hartman's lesbian partner -- who I'm guessing at some point she must have loved, though she doesn't mention it -- into the ball and chain around her now-heterosexual leg.

With some effort, Ms. Hartman manages to break the doomed union, and she thoughtfully enumerates the happiest days of her ex-lesbian life:

1. Getting married to a wonderful man.
2. Getting a divorce from that bitch.

If you don't want to read this article -- and you shouldn't, unless you have problems with low blood pressure -- the first eighty paragraphs are about how much this heterosexual chick wants to dump the Sapphic baggage she's been saddled with and marry the answer to a woman's prayers named "Todd." You can almost picture the moms of LBGTs everywhere clutching their rosaries and squealing, "Oh, Wally, there's still hope!"

This sad sack ends her passive-aggressive brag by tossing pitiful little crumbs to all us non-reformed homos. We shouldn't be second-class citizens! she says. That's truly awful. She'd do something about, but she's busy getting boned by a real man.

Take comfort in knowing she's still on our side, though she's probably picking out china patterns as we speak:

At long last, same-sex couples across New York are picking out china and calling the caterers, preparing to plight their troths as soon as next Sunday. I am grateful, relieved and, yes, even a tiny bit proud to be just another hasbian with a husband, cheering them on.

What a great piece. What an interesting woman. And I'll cheer her on, too, even though I'm an ex-asshole.

Oh, for fuck's sake. You call that a deal? Gordon Ramsay's restaurants are failing just slightly faster than firebombed Yugos, and you're offering this miserable excuse for a meal for sixty-five bucks?

"Caper and shallot dressing. "Dressed rocket." Does dinner come in a cruet? Are plates prohibitively expensive on your side of the pond? If I bring a doctor's note saying I have teeth will you bring me some solid food?

And Cornish potatoes. Yum. As everyone knows, the potatoes from Corn are absolutely -- no, wait, I guess nobody knows what the fuck they are.

But Jesus, "Lyme Bay." What is that, a hospital for people who have been bitten by ticks? For fuck's sake. I don't want my plaice coming from there, whatever the fuck plaice is. And "line-caught." What was the line -- "Well, you're an ugly fish, but I'll fuck you"? What a load of bollocks.

Oh, like white folks aren't insulted by that "Ward, I'm worried about the Beaver" thing.

Health and environmental groups have mounted a campaign against Bath & Body Works, urging the retailer to stop selling its line of “Summertime Scent” soaps that contain triclosan, a chemical categorized as a pesticide.

Scientific studies have linked triclosan to hormone disruption, which could be hazardous to teenagers whose bodies are still developing.

Adios, Cucumber Eunuch and Undescended Tangerine.

Today in Extras Casting: Law and Order SVU

Lawyers wear business suits, female cops have short hair, gay dudes move around on bars in their underwear, drug addicts have beards.

Articles That Shouldn't Be Next To Each Other

Today in The New York Post:

When you realize you’re finally getting married after eight years of waiting, you kind of want to share the news with everybody — even Prince William.

New Yorkers Bill White and Bryan Eure mentioned their upcoming nuptials to his royal highness at a veterans event in Los Angeles this month. After William offered an, “Oh, that’s terrific. Congratulations!” the couple asked if he might share any wedding tips. “He said, ‘If you just make sure one person is the final decision-maker, and you’re OK with that, you’ll be all right,’ ” says White.

Princely advice aside, Eure describes the wedding-planning process as “a team effort — I dream it up, and Billy makes it happen!”

White, the former president of the Intrepid Sea, Air and Space Museum who now heads the Constellations Group strategic consulting firm, and Eure, who works in commercial insurance, describe their wedding style as conservative, classy and tasteful.

Oh, and big.

In addition to a small church ceremony at St. Bartholomew’s and a wedding-eve reception at GOP fund-raiser Georgette Mosbacher’s Fifth Avenue home, the couple expects a jaw-dropping 600 guests at their September celebration at the Four Seasons — the first same-sex wedding in the restaurant’s history. The guest list includes three former presidents (George W. Bush, Bill Clinton and George H.W. Bush), two New York governors (Andrew Cuomo and David Paterson), multiple media luminaries (Barbara Walters, Anderson Cooper, Bob Pittman), a secretary of state (Hillary Clinton), two four-star generals (David Petraeus and James Amos), and prominent attorney David Boies, who will serve as best man.

And what’s in store for all those boldface names?

“A tremendous, very masculine party. It’s going to be one of the most exciting events the Four Seasons has ever done,” says restaurant co-owner Julian Niccolini, who hinted at a floating wedding cake bobbing in the pool and a performance by the New York Pops orchestra.

From May 20, 2010 The Wall Street Journal:

Bill White, the president of the Intrepid Sea, Air & Space Museum resigned Wednesday, one year after the New York State Attorney General began investigating him as part of a widespread probe into financial marketing firms operating without proper licenses.

In May 2009, Mr. White was subpoenaed by New York State Attorney General Andrew M. Cuomo after he was found to have been operating as an unlicensed placement agent, a position marketing financial investments to pension funds. Bill White & Associates allegedly received a $2 million fee from City Investment Fund L.P., a real estate investment fund co-sponsored by real estate company Fisher Brothers that received pension fund business. A spokesman for the attorney general's office confirmed that Mr. White had been subpoenaed, but declined to comment further on an ongoing investigation.

Ridiculous Atheists Claim Apparition on Wal-Mart Receipt Looks Nothing Like Photo of Jesus

Police in southern Sweden have a new tool for fighting sex crimes: a dog named Rapports Opus that is trained to detect the presence of sperm. According to English-language newspaper The Local, police in the town of Karlskrona arrested a 23-year-old man and charged him with rape after Rapports Opus was taken to a park where a woman was sexually assaulted. The dog found traces of semen and after being sent for analysis it was found to match the 23-year-old's DNA.

Oh, Christ. And I thought regular dogs always sniffed my ass.

Artist's Renderings Vs. Reality

The lobby boasts recycled wood flooring cut from timber beams, an abstract mural of sewing machines and stitching patterns and a quirky display of salvaged sewing machines and vintage office equipment. -- Architect



The lobby boasts cavernous holes in the ceiling that have been plugged with Spackle and left unpainted. Old typewriters and adding machines sit on paint-spattered shelves. A mess of 2x4s hold up this chintzy mail thing with a faux-bronze finish, and though the structure is open somehow whoever built it couldn't figure out how to paint behind it. -- Reality

I don't want to unfairly pigeonhole an entire race, but Christ, Chinese people eat like Mexicans.

Ship Any Car

You know, it's nice that Yelp filters out questionable reviews, because there are some unscrupulous business owners out there. They post rave reviews about their own businesses to trick potential customers into patronizing them. Unfortunately, some of these business owners are just a little too prolific, and Yelp has a hard time keeping up.

There's obviously something wrong with Ship Any Car, LLC. The Fort Lee, NJ company has been been reviewed on Yelp 146 times. Something like three reviews give the company one star and include a word like "BEWARE!" And all the rest give the company five stars, most posted by an anonymous someone who's never rated another company.

Yelp seemed to catch on, deleting 72 reviews for violating their Content Guidelines or Terms of Service, and filtering 71 additional reviews for being questionable. For instance, Fred T. has used twelve other branches of Ship Any Car, in Los Angeles, Manhattan, Atlanta, Seattle, Detroit, Oakland, Las Vegas, Washington DC, Philadelphia, Tampa, Miami, Newport Beach, and Fort Lee, NJ. He gives five stars and the exact same review to all. Monta G. has used seven branches. She gives five stars and the exact same review to all. Matt L. has used six, Mary S. has used five, Kevin B has used two. All award each branch five stars and offer the exact same review. Which seems a little suspicious because, for example, Jamie W. used the services of five different branches and apparently had a driver named Ernest at all five.

The bored blogger might notice themes running through the reviews. (The quotes are edited for brevity.)


Have any of the reviewers misspelled their own names?

Micheal Z. five-star review 6-21-11
Micheal C. five-star review 6-13-11
Micheal S. five-star review 5-31-11
Micheal Z. five-star review 5-26-11
Micheal R. five-star review 5-23-11
Micheal Z. five-star review 5-20-11
Micheal B. five-star review 5-17-11
Micheal B. five-star review 4-12-11


Do any of the reviewers have similar names?

Doug W. five-star review 6-28-11
Douglas W. five-star review 5-24-11
Douglas W. five-star review 5-23-11
Douglas W. five-star review 5-18-11
Doug W. five-star review 5-16-11
Douglas W. five-star review 4-26-11
Douglas W. five-star review 4-26-11
Douglas W. five-star review 4-12-11


What phone number should I call, and who answers?

Karen M. "The 1-888-333-3141 number got Mike the Manager on the phone"

Kristi L. "call the 1-888-333-3141 number a manager will take care of you"

Marge S. "1-888-333-3141 got me a manager on the phone"

Susan A. "I dialed the 1-888-275-6161 number it got a manager on the phone"

Magia B. "1-888-333-3141 gets their managers on the phone"

Bobby B. "the 1-888-333-3141 number seems to get their managers online"

Douglas W. "The 1-888-333-3141 seems to get a manager on the phone"

Jason T. "1-888-333-3141 seemed to get Jesus himself on the phone"

Mark M. "1 888 333 3141 was a answer from GOD"

Dan R. "1-888-333-3141 was a answer from god"

Kevin B. "The 1-888-333-3141 number was a prayer answered by god"

Ginger S. "1-888-275-6161 was a call to GOD"


Really? God?

Mack J. "Highest Praises Belong to Ship Any Car"

Robert W. "Their Service has been a blessing"

Jack W. "I could not even pray for a better service."

Jason T. "Praise the lord for ship any car"

Mary S. "thank God for Ship Any Car, Many Blessings to them."

Horatio S. "Thank GOD for ship any car, I was bless to find them"

Autumn B. "thank GOD for them."


Does nobody there have Spell Check?

Greg D. "Being in the millitary this means alot to me"

Autumn B. "They do alot of shipping in the local millitary community"

Greg M. "Being in the millitary and having to move all the sucks, but ship any car made it a great experience"

Jason S. "They transported my cars all the time when I was in the millitary too."

Mary S. "I called this number 1-888-333-3141 and got a millitary discount."

Tony V. Deffinatly recomend you guys"

Horatio S. "they will definately take care of your car and houshold furniture."

Myers L. "You can definately count on this company"

Annie J. "there aren't that many honest moving companies but they are definately one of them."

Mark W. "any one in the millitary should use their serviced definately."


Yelp should be applauded for their diligence in filtering questionable reviews, but can they keep up? The Fort Lee, NJ branch of Ship Any Car currently has a three-and-a-half star rating, based on one negative review and two new positive ones.

Carly C. gives them one star, saying, "DO NOT USE THIS COMPANY!!! I can not say it enough. The BBB rating is D+. I wish I had looked them up before booking."

Mary W. gives them five stars. And another five stars to the branch in Philadelphia.

John K. gives them five stars. He says they're a "Super Good Company" and he'll call them the next time he moves. Definately.


Ship Any Car LLC
158 Linwood Plaza
Fort Lee, NJ 07024
www.shipanycar.com
(888) 333-3141

Please Sign a Petition Telling Change.Org Not To Send You All Sorts of Spam After You Sign A Petition

We sign one crummy online petition, and all kinds of shit hits the fan. Now, suddenly, we've got yet another unwanted online account -- with a computer-generated password like ayqucfxtj -- and on our unwanted "profile" ten little boxes are checked:


Really, "Action Alerts"? You think because we signed something saying Joe was the cutest Jonas Brother we want to hear about kids in Africa who need shoes?

Well, we're not going to take it! Tell Change.org they've pushed us too far. Please sign this petition telling them not to send you all sorts of crummy email after you sign this petition.

Show these people who think petitions can actually change things that petitions can actually change things. And heartfelt thanks from somebody who's learned his lesson and is never signing anything again.

This morning I noticed everyone attractive had left Manhattan for the summer, so I thought it'd be a fine time to see the Alexander McQueen show. Sadly, it wasn't. There were eight thousand unattractive people in line, not one with sleeves or long pants. Really, if we hadn't been in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, you'd have thought they were waiting to ride the Zipper at the carnival in a church parking lot. These were fashionistas? I didn't get it. I mean, you don't munch on Cheetos while you're waiting for your table at Le Cirque.

The clothes were gorgeous from far away, but a real disappointment up close. From a distance they're gorgeous, and scary, and bizarre. A few steps closer and you can see the eight million little stitches that made some sweet old French lady go blind. You wonder why. You imagine conversation with a regular woman as opposed to one in McQueen:

REGULAR WOMAN: I work for a company that facilitates funding for low-cost housing.

WOMAN IN MCQUEEN: It's Alexander McQueen. Isn't it fabulous? It's made of taffeta, fox fur, and pharmaceutial waste.

Aside from being freaky small, the clothes weren't as bizarre as the tabloids tell it: take the Mohawks and S&M masks off the mannequins and you've got something Reese Witherspoon would wear. And as for the music, well, John Williams? Really? Isn't he pretty much the opposite of Alexander McQ? It's pitiful how the Met panders to the lowest common denominator. If the clothes are too strange for you, well, here's a tune by the guy who wrote the music for E. T.

I tried to understand the clothing, but I fell sadly short. If you want to do art, do art. Don't glue it on top of a barn and pretend it's useful now that it's a weather vane. And I realized something that I think every man gets at some point in his life: I don't care if it's ironic, laconic, sarcastic or sardonic, if you're wearing a dress with a bustle you're an idiot. Really, these things were to clothes like The Ace of Cake's works are to food. I'll certainly applaud that giant frog covered in frosting that you bring to my birthday party, but when I cut into it and discover it's all plywood and PVC pipe I'm going to put you atop a real cake and set your ass on fire.

Darwin Working His Butt Off At Baseball Stadiums

I would have just headlined it "Gay Couples Avoid Asshole," but that's why I've got a blog.

Trailer découpage? What a fag.

Here's a sneak peak at a guest room in the Miami outpost of Lords, America's first gay hotel chain.

Which is lucky, because I wouldn't set foot in here unless somebody pushed my face into a pillow.

Bear City 2 Casting Call

I enjoyed being background on Men in Black III, so I signed up with some casting agencies. Got a particularly sexy call today:

BEARCITY 2

Director: Doug Langway
Writers: Doug Langway & Lawrence Ferber
Distributor: TLA Releasing
Location: Provincetown, MA & NYC

Synopsis: BearCity 2 is a hirsute "Sex and the City," following the funny, romantic, and occasionally dramatic adventures of our familiar characters, a group of bears and cubs in New York City. Tyler and Roger live as boyfriends in Roger's very plush penthouse in the trendy meat packing district. Roger has settled firmly into domestic life while Tyler, now 23, is getting a little . . . restless.

Michael, our big mama bear, has become a sought-after "heavyweight" Broadway producer and has invested his earnings in his hot, Latino boyfriend, Carlos' dream of opening a gay-sports bar in Manhattan. With Michael and Carlos both wrapped up in their careers they are unable to see that the technology they count on to stay "in-touch" is tearing them apart.

Our beloved Brent and Fred find themselves at opposite ends of the Bear Pride spectrum. Fred is excited about the chance to shoot a bear documentary, while Brent has had his fill of woofs, stuffed bears and flannel shirts. Can this documentary be the key to bringing this couple closer or will Fred's reluctance to commit finally push Brent away?

When Roger pops the question, and a reluctant Tyler accepts, the gang is thrust into a wild ride towards a wedding ceremony at the closing of Bear Week in Provincetown, MA. Can these couples hold their relationship together with 3,000 bears, a foam party and a few ex-boyfriends standing in the way? Or will true love prevail at a beach wedding in one of the most romantic and magical towns on earth?

RECURRING CAST: ROGER, TYLER, FRED, BRENT, MICHAEL, CARLOS, SIMON, RANDY, TED, MELVIN

SEEKING:

[ GABRIEL HALL ]
(mid 50s-mid 60s) Tyler's Dad. Heavy-set, hairy, well-dressed, silver-haired, proud military man. A creative thinker, realist and leader. Anyone is an equal to him as long as they are on his level. As an entrepreneur, he is a hard worker. He has come to Provincetown for Tyler's wedding.

[ NATHANIEL REED ]
(Early 40s) In shape, stunningly handsome, hairy man who oozes masculinity. He now lives in Provincetown and runs the Dune Tours. He has an image and certain swagger to uphold and expects everyone to look up to him. Deep down he wants to find the love of his life but is scared of being vulnerable. NUDITY: Shirtless

[ BIG DAN ]
(late 30s-early 40s) A big, beefy, "bear". Very masculine, ex-football player type. He has a tough exterior (probably from growing up gay in the Midwest), but a warm heart. He is reserved and respectful, looking for a lost love but always ends up getting screwed over by the young 20-somethings he falls for. NUDITY: Shirtless

[ RYNO ]
(late 30s) Caucasian, heavy, hairy, masculine. Probably grew up in the south, played linebacker (which is where the football nickname "Ryno" came from.) He is in a triad marriage to both Billy and Dean. NUDITY: Shirtless

[ BILLY ]
(early 30s) SUBMIT ALL ETHNICITIES. A very heavy bear. He is a "go with the flow" guy who is getting the best of both worlds in his relationship with Ryno and Dean. He is into sports and the outdoors. NUDITY: Shirtless

[ DEAN ]
(late 20s) African American. Muscular bear. He isn't afraid to stand up to people and push their buttons. A bit aggressive and is attracted to very big guys. He is newer to the marriage triad with Billy and Ryno. NUDITY: Shirtless

[ REGGIE ]
(early 30s) Fred's ex-boyfriend. A well-built hipster cub/bear. He is passive aggressive and can be a bit of a jerk. He is now married to Don who apparently has become Fred's replacement.

[ DON ]
(early 30s) SUBMIT ALL ETHNICITIES. Well-built muscle bear. Very cute. Reggie's husband who is introduced to Fred.

[ SAM ]
(early 40s) SUBMIT ALL ETHNICITIES. Very attractive muscle bear. Officiate at the wedding of Roger and Tyler. [Ed. note: Because God forbid an ugly man marries them.]

[ GARY ]
(mid 40s) A shorter, thinner man with a goatee. Married to Cole for many years. We see them walking hand in hand when approached to talk about their relationship for the Bear documentary.

[ COLE ]
(late 40s) Stocky man. Maybe salt/pepper beard look. Married to Gary for many years. They are adorable together. When approached to tell the story of their relationship for the documentary, Gary is reluctant to talk about it, but Gary convinces him. [Ed. note: Gary might be schizophrenic too.]

[ KEN ]
(mid 30s- 40s) Caucasian. A salty, angular, mega-hairy guy who runs a private whale watching tour company with his partner, Jake. They take Brent and Fred out on a tour. NUDITY: Shirtless, Rear

Dear Writers:

Here's a free line of dialog.

MISC. GAY MAN: I won't say Ken has a one track mind, but when we had sex he kept yelling, "Thar she blows!"

You're welcome.
RomanHans

[ JACK ]
(mid 30s) A huge, muscle bear. He is at Roger's bachelor party at the beach and congratulates him on his upcoming marriage. NUDITY: Shirtless

[ CHEF ]
SUBMIT ALL ETHNICITIES. The pizza chef at Carlos' new bar.

[ JAMES ]
(20s) Latino. Hot muscle bear. A new waiter at Carlos' bar who serves the crew on opening night.

[ MASSEUR ]
(40s) SUBMIT ALL ETHNICITIES. Gives Fred his massage at Tyler's spa day and there is a bit of a misunderstanding.

[ ROLF ]
(late 30s-40s) A large framed, hairy, linebacker type. Intimidating in a good way. He is Tyler's masseur.

[ PAT/DAVE/STEVE ]
SUBMIT ALL ETHNICITIES. All very heavy-set bears. Guys that Carlos met online through "Growlr" site. NUDITY: Shirtless

[ JOHN ]
(40s) Big, burly man. He is a pastry chef who Tyler is interested in.

[ JAKE ]
(mid 30s) African American. Hairy, muscle bear. He runs a private whale watching tour company with Ken. NUDITY: Shirtless, Rear

Great. Eighteen dudes and one miserable ass. It'll be just like watching 60 Minutes.

Anyway, if anybody's interested, drop me a note and I'll forward the details. Maybe send me a photo, too. I don't want to bother these people for nothing.

Mel Gibson is totally supportive of his gay brother.

Years ago Andrew Gibson told Mel about his sexual orientation. "I was at a family dinner at Aria restaurant," Andrew said, "when I told Mel. He just said, 'It's not my choice, but I love you and you're my brother."

Wow, what a great bro. Andrew is coming out to Mel, and Mel makes it all about him. God, imagine what family emergencies must be like:

ANDREW: AIEEE! I got my hand stuck in the garbage disposal!

MEL: Well, mine is doing good.

"Not my choice," Mel says. Yeah, sometimes I wonder why I went for it. Maybe they were out of hetero.

Anyway, while we're choosing, who wants unbalanced, alcoholic, homophobic anti-Semite? Hey, Mel, sit back down for a second. Leave a little for somebody else.

Dear Hint:

Thanks! I totally thought it was recent, because I saw a whole bunch of airline baggage handlers dressed like Bing Crosby just the other day. Hmm, 1956. Is it Eleanor Roosevelt? The Cuban Missile Crisis? How the fuck is "1956" going to help? Wait: is this a photo of my grandparents fucking?


Oh, yes! What an idiot I am not to piece together a mental timeline for everything I own. Just think: back in my parents were young, peanut butter and jelly probably came in separate jars. Oh, the humanity! And I hear potato chips didn't even come in a can.

No, this email has totally turned my life around. I'm going to spend the rest of the day looking at everything I have and dwelling on how lucky I am to have it. In fact, first I'm going to go toss my plasma TV into a rose-petal strewn bubble bath, and then I'm going to masturbate grandpa. Thanks for sharing, email pal!

The pleasure is all mine, 'holes.

As you might know, I'm a huge fan of everything Japanese, so naturally I keep up with their cultural trends. Lately I've been hearing about something called "panchira," which evidently means "panty flash." This is when somebody is in a short skirt and for some reason they accidentally offer bystanders a quick view of their underwear. Apparently there's something about the unintentional nature of this display that underscores the innocence of the flasher, making them seem more attractive and the act of voyeurism more forbidden. Panchira can be seen in Japanese TV, movies, and advertisements, but particularly in anime.

As a writer and as a man, this trend fascinated me. What an odd turn-on! How strange and yet -- I'll admit it -- so unexpectedly hot. Ever since I first heard about it, I couldn't stop imagining these scenes in my head, and eventually I decided to immortalize some of the most erotic in ceramic figurines.

The tennis player has always been an object of sexual desire. Their athleticism, their grace, their animalistic sweat. What could be hotter than if one accidentally lost their glasses and, while retrieving them, gave us a quick glimpse of their underthings?


Mr. Takahashi has forgotten to put his pants on. He's an excellent businessman, but he has that forthcoming merger on his mind. He is our boss, and if he caught us admiring his Munsingwear he'd surely fire us. Still, we can't resist that forbidden glance.


I don't know anyone who hasn't masturbated to the thought of a businessman in a schoolgirl's outfit. Here I think I've nicely captured Mr. Morimoto being surprised by an unexpected gust of wind. Somebody's been working out.


Drunks have always been erotic, because their helplessness evokes the suppressed desire for domination within ourselves. Takiyo Muriyama has had one too many sakes after a hard day at work, and doesn't realize his Jockeys are exposed for the world to see. He's clearly beyond caring: can we look without shame? Or can we, perhaps, move next to him and hike up his skirt just an inch or two more?

Celebrities including Tom Cruise are reportedly investing in soundproofed bedrooms where they can snore in peace without disturbing their spouses.

Cruise, 49, has reportedly converted a guest bedroom into such a refuge at his palatial Beverly Hills home.

Shortly after the actor married Katie Holmes, it was reported that they sometimes slept in different rooms because of his snoring.

Sigh. That Katie Holmes is sooo understanding. Still, I hope she insists that Tom wear a "Breathe Right Strip" on his "nose" when he "sleeps" in the other room.

Okay, Mickey, you get under the hose now.

Oh. Sorry. I actually meant, "Under the showerhead."

Really? Do we need to tell people who just got married that they're the same sex as their spouse? Call me crazy, but I'm pretty sure they know. They don't really need an announcement from you recapping what they did. They didn't exactly look under the covers on their wedding night and say, "Holy God, what the fuck is that?"

Meanwhile, what do giraffes have to do with same-sex marriage? Are they all gay? Or are they the only animals that exist in that middle ground between butch and effeminate? You know, they're not bears or panthers, but they're also not flamingos or poodles. Yeah, they're the gay equivalent of the animal world.

All this adds up to a simple fact: I'm not going to open this asshole card. Because what's the message inside going to be? "These giraffes are messed up and so are you"? "These small-dicked creatures can't tell who's male and who's female. Is that your excuse?"

Anyway, I'm not planning on getting same-sex married, but if I do, don't send me this card. Because I would send you a note back that says this:

Thank you for the card. All my best to your moderately attractive family.

Still, I breathlessly await these additions to the Painfully Obvious line of greeting cards:

Get Well Soon From That Affliction That You've Got

and

Congrats On The New Baby That Came Out Of Your Uterus

What that mysterious smile? Because when you touch her skin it sounds like she farts.

Allez tout suite, le Batman! Un maitre d' at le Chat Noire Cafe has forgotten to put on le deodorant.

Being a gay man, obviously I'm a fan of musical theatre, so I'd like to take a moment today to salute the absolute best: Rodgers and Hammerstein. Rather than describing their magic, though, let's leap straight into a classic ditty from their magnum opus South Pacific. In "Bloody Mary," a troop of hunky young Seabees explain their feelings for a chubby Polynesian:

Bloody Mary is the girl I love.
Bloody Mary is the girl I love.
Bloody Mary is the girl I love.
Now ain't that too damn bad!

Isn't that astonishing for a first verse? It's got great repetition, so you can go to the bathroom or bake a cake and not have to worry about missing anything. And get the subtlety. You can almost picture Rodgers and Hammerstein arguing it out:

RODGERS: I've got it! We'll close it with "Now ain't that too damn bad!"

HAMMERSTEIN: [SHAKES HIS HEAD] No, I'm still partial to "And who gives a fuck what you think?"

The second verse takes us to unexpected places:

Her skin is tender as Dimaggio's glove.
Her skin is tender as Dimaggio's glove.
Her skin is tender as Dimaggio's glove.
Now ain't that too damn bad!

Got that? This verse wisely reiterates the structure and repetition of the first verse, but deepens our understanding of these butch sailors in World War II by illustrating their love of imagery. I'm sure this is a positively brilliant comparison, and one day soon a theatergoer will figure out exactly who this "Dimaggio" is.

Bloody Mary's chewin' betel nuts.
She is always chewin' betel nuts.
Bloody Mary's chewin' betel nuts.
And she don't use Pepsodent!
Now ain't that too damn bad!

Sadly, this verse kind of loses me. I'm not sure what chewing betel nuts says about a character. At the risk of sounding bold, R&H might have chosen a description that is a bit more meaningful, like "Bloody Mary has a hamster named Sam," or "Bloody Mary wears extra-large Spanx."

I don't think I need to explain the reference to Pepsodent other than noting I wrote a story praising Kelloggs once and two weeks later somebody sent me a Pop Tart in the mail.

Anyway, after examining the brilliance of this work, I'm sure you're a fan of musical theatre now too. Keep an eye out for South Pacific. And look for my forthcoming musical, Stonewall!, which tips its hat to R&H with the showstopper, "Harvey Starts His Day With Count Chocula."