"After the Third Flip, I Lost Control"

My mother casually informed me today that she has been watching RuPaul's Drag Race. Andt hat she loves it.

This proves that homosexuality in America has, indeed, "Jumped the Shark."

Or perhaps it just means that RuPaul's show will join RuPaul himself, the Queer Eyes for the Straight Guy and Will & Grace in that category of "Popular Culture Acceptance" that gay men and women will wish they could erase 50 to 100 years from now.

You know that category. The category of laughing at us and not with us. The category where gay men who are funny are approved of, but if gay men have or attempt to use a penis, lynch them. 

I couldn't get into RuPaul's Drag Race, unlike many of my friends. I didn't get it and still don't. 

And maybe 50 years from now, we won't look back on the show like its some queer Amos 'n' Andy, but I think my mother, after going on and on about how beautiful the guys on the show are, said it best...

"I guess the older I get, the more I get into watching trash."

Yay! We've made it onto cable television and people in the Heartland think we're beautiful, but laugh at us and call us trash. Well done, Ru. Well done!

"Exciting to Catch, Delicious to Eat!"

My brother Jeff and I are both gay... and that's just about where the similarities end.

Even as young children, we were different. 

My father told people that if I said, "White," Jeff would say, "Black." Most of the time, just to piss me off, I would imagine. Because seeing me angry is funny.

Jeff recently told me that his new theme song is Kelly Clarkson's "I Do Not Hook Up," whereas my theme song has been, and hopefully will always be, Sondheim's "Another Hundred People."

Even on vacation, Jeff is up before dawn, so that he can run 5 or 6 miles and watch the sun come up. Me? Like a take on Bette Midler's line in the new version of The Women, I always tell Jeff that, "I'm pretty sure the ocean will be here AT NOON!"

So, with all of our differences, I found these two videos comforting. Here is brother and sister David and Amy Sedaris. Both are on Letterman, and they couldn't be more different.

First, David reading about his "Stadium Pal"...

And now a collection of Amy appearances on Letterman...

I wonder if I'm more of a David or an Amy. Hmmm...

"One Must Never Deny It, But After You Try It, You Vary the Diet"

I thought that casting Robert Downey Jr. as Iron Man was brilliant...

...I mean an actor with a history of substance abuse playing a superhero with a history of alcohol abuse? Genius!...

...but this? This takes it to the next level!

Robert Downey, Jr. loved to ride the white horse back in the day, and Holmes loved his seven percent solution. It's a match made in cinematic heaven.

Not to mention that Downey looks damn hot as a shirtless Holmes. 

Hey, Basil Rathbone! Put Downey's abs in your pipe and suck on 'em! 

God knows I want to.

"Laundry Day. See You There. Under-Things Tumbling"

I'm going to have to find a new laundromat.

And since there is only one in my neighborhood, that's going to be a bitch.

I walked into my laundromat earlier tonight and the tv was blaring Fox News, specifically Mike Huckabee's show. (I know! Mike Huckabee has a show? Who knew?)

And as I was putting my clothes into the washing machines, I heard some random woman on the Huckabee show reporting something about the bailout. What caught my attention was her repeated use of two words: "Mr. Obama."

Her sentences went something like, "Today, Mr. Obama blah blah blah blah blah. In response, so-and-so said that Mr. Obama blah blah blah..."

Before I could even finish loading my laundry, I shouted back at the screen, "It's PRESIDENT Obama! PRESIDENT! He's our President. Show a little respect!," completely forgetting that the laundromat was packed and that people can hear me when I shout.

So, I avoided further embarrassment by plugging my ears with music from my iPod (the Original Cast Recording of L'il Abner to be precise). I finished loading my laundry and walked down the street to buy some groceries.

When I returned to transfer my clothes into dryers, Sean Hannity's show was on. And unfortunately, I had turned my iPod off.

The nice woman who works there on weekends happened to be walking past me just as the venom, bile and hatred spewing from Hannity's mouth into my ears had reached critical mass, so I said to her (in a voice perhaps little too loud to be considered anything but bitchy)...

"How can you watch this crap?!? The things they say are ridiculous!

It would be funny if it wasn't so damn hateful!"

Lucky for me, she laughed, said she she never changes the channel and doesn't even hear it anymore.

Well, I hear it and it pisses me off.

So, in order to maintain my sanity and to keep me from disturbing the residents of my neighborhood, it looks like I might have to walk a few miles to do my laundry.

Or just remember to keep my iPod earbuds in while I'm at that laundromat.

I wonder what happens if I start playing "Dark Side of the Moon" at the top of Sean Hannity's show? Hmmm...

"They Was Long, Lean & Lanky, But They Loved Hanky Panky"

Tomorrow morning (Sunday at 11:00 a.m. Central Time), Turner Classic Movies will be airing L'il Abner, the 1959 movie version of the 1956 Broadway musical.

I have never seen the entire movie before, but my brother, Jeff, was in our high school's production of L'il Abner. And I saw that production. However...

I don't remember much of the plot, many of the songs or which role by brother played. The only thing I remember  - - and my memory of this is vivid! - - is that, at the end of one of his scenes, Jeff had the audience cheering as he was quickly wheeled off stage. 

Now, by "wheeled off stage," I don't mean that he was in a wheelchair. No, "wheeled off stage," means that my brother had another actor pushing him off stage... as he sat... in a wheelbarrow.

Because "Exit sitting in a wheelbarrow," is apparently the East Tennessee high school theatre version of "Exeunt pursued by a bear." Which explains why that exit is my only memory of Jeff's L'il Abner performance. 

I mean, after you watch Shakespeare's "Jump the Shark" moment where a character is chased off the stage by an actor wearing a bad bear costume, your brain won't allow you to remember anything else about The Winter's Tale. To make sure you will pass on that ridiculous stage exit to all of your friends. Sort of an Elizabethan Fail Blog.

So, the L'il Abner movie musical will be mostly new to me. But the little things I do know about it are convincing me that I'm going to love it!

How can you go wrong when Mammy Yokum (the role most casting directors think is a perfect fit for me) is played by Witchiepoo herself, the brilliant Billie Hayes?

What's not to love about Julie Newmar not singing a note or saying a word as Stupefyin' Jones, and yet literally stopping any scene she walks into with that oh-so-hot body of hers?

And then, there's the song below, the song from the show that confirms what I have been saying for years - - that the hottest guys in the bars are, more often than not, the most boring men in bed. 

You know it's true. Those uber-hot guys are like Narcissus if, instead of falling in love with his reflection in the water, Narcissus was constantly looking down, unable to take his eyes off his own abs. 

Give another type of guy a try one night. Oh, I don't know... Maybe a bald, musical theatre actor/blogger. 

Why are we better in bed? It's simple. "We're number 2. We try harder."

Or as the wives sing to the doctors who have changed their skinny but horny husbands into sexless but gorgeous muscle boys, "Put 'Em Back the Way They Was!" A song so wrong in so many ways, it becomes very, very right!

"Brief Interviews with Hideous Men"

I am heading out the door to go to a birthday party for my friend, Clover.

Clover is a performance artist. And her Amazon Wish List intimidated the Hell out of me. 

All the "wish books" on Clover's list have titles that definitely sound smarter than a 5th grader, much less this redneck homo from public school. Titles that seem to say, "You must be THIS SMART to read this book." Writing so dense that merely skimming page one will cause you to feel as if you've taken three Lunesta, two Ambien, with tequila "in a pear tree."

Titles like "Art and Social Change: A Critical Reader." And "Teaching Community: A Pedagogy of Hope." I couldn't make it through those books. If you want me to read them, just hit me in the head with a two-by-four. It will have the same effect!

So, I chose this book as my gift for Clover: Brief Interviews with Hideous Men.

Because it describes most of my tricks, boyfriends and/or sexual partners.

The paper bag over the head is new. I've never done that to anyone I've slept with. Yet.

Fratboy Fridays

BOYS IN CAPS

Clothes from Abercrombie & Fitch. That body he won in the genetic lottery.

But those eye brows? He stole those from Ann Miller.

Post-Sugar Babies Ann Miller. Way, way post-Sugar Babies.

****

SAGGERS

He's sort of looks like Paul Newman as Brick from Cat on a Hot Tin Roof

combined with a little Sly Stallone in the first Rocky movie screaming, "Yo, Adrian!"

Two great tastes that taste great together.

I'm assuming.

****

MOONERS

When you and your friends are mooning the camera, 

and you turn around to check out all the ass candy your buddies are displaying, 

it sort of screams "Seacrest," if you know what I mean.

****

DAMN, I WAS DRUNK LAST NIGHT

Drinking alone could be a sign of alcoholism, but posing with alcohol? 

That's just hot.

"It May Be a Surprise to You, But It's Been on My Mind for Weeks"

I noticed something a little while ago that is either a brilliant inside joke or a funny coincidence.

It might just be a boring piece of theatre trivia that amuses only me. It might be because it is. But just in case no one else caught this, I'm calling dibs on...

The Goodman Theatre recently announced their 2009/2010 season and the first play they are producing is a contemporary adaptation of the Marx Brothers play, Animal Crackers.

Now, when I see the words "contemporary adaptation" in a sentence describing an upcoming production of a Marx Brothers play, I immediately get that pre-diarrhea feeling. But after that passed, I remembered...

Animal Crackers has a very famous scene where Groucho is flirting / proposing marriage / trying to score with both Margaret Dumont (Mrs. Rittenhouse) and Margaret Irving (Mrs. Whitehead).

At one point, he says that, "If I were Eugene O'Neill, I could tell you what I really think of you two," and then, he steps out of the scene to deliver an O'Neill soliloquy. Or rather, a Groucho Marx soliloquy written in the style of Eugene O'Neill. Incredibly funny.

One of Groucho's asides is...

"This would be a better world for children if the parents had to eat the spinach."

But just as he steps out of the scene the first time, he turns to the Margarets and says, "Pardon me while I have a strange interlude."

It's a brilliant Groucho Marx line because Strange Interlude is the title of an experimental Eugene O'Neill play in which the characters break into soliloquies throughout the play, over and over.

A play with soliloquies filling its nine - - count 'em, NINE! - - acts, which means that the characters in this play walk out of the scene and talk to themselves... or us... or both... for nearly SIX HOURS!

Yep, that's the play's running time. Six hours. Well, that's what it was at the Goodman, anyway. That was the production where some audience member sitting in the balcony on opening night yelled towards the stage, "Why are you butchering this play, this beautiful play?"

So, after the Goodman Theatre's poorly received production of Eugene O'Neill's Strange Interlude, they will open their next season with Animal Crackers, which contains a scene that makes fun of Strange Interlude and all those damn soliloquies, that may or may not have been butchered.

Yep, that's it. I know it's not the mossy knoll or anything, but isn't that an interesting little coincidence? Or a fun something the Goodman slipped into their season?

Or is this just proof that, with my double major in theatre and psychology, I could never write a mystery thriller like The Da Vinci Code. Now, Diary of a Mad Playwright? I could do that! AND suspense-less!

P.S. Yes, I mentioned Diary of a Mad Playwright.

No, my reference level couldn't get gayer even if Rip Taylor showered me with confetti and Liberace played chopsticks on my ass.

"I'm Just a Backwoods Barbie, Too Much Makeup, Too Much Hair"

Y'all, I'm beside myself. For so many reasons.

Dolly Parton has started a video diary. She's partnered with Cracker Barrel. Cracker Barrel has released a collectors edition of Dolly's album "Backwoods Barbie" with THREE NEW SONGS.

And most bizarre/best of all, Cracker Barrel is offering a limited edition Dolly Parton rocking chair. In all pink!!!

Now, before any of you homos get on the warpath about Cracker Barrel not hiring gays and lesbians, let me just say this - - the biscuits. Have you had their biscuits?

Seriously though, I think that the "don't hire gays and lesbians" issue was years ago, but if not, how long do you think they can keep us out if they have pink, Dolly Parton rocking chairs out in front of the restaurant?!?

Their corporate offices may not like the gays, but if you partner with Dolly, you get the 'mos. In DROVES!

I just have to figure out how to go back home, buy my Dolly Parton pink rocking chair and get it back to Chicago before Pride this year. All the fags will be SO JEALOUS!

While I figure that out, here's Dolly's first video diary. God, I love this woman!!!

"This is Going to Change the Way You Punch Dicks!"

I saw this yesterday at Seduced by the New... and I think we all know a few guys who could use a good Cock Shot, don't you?

Cock Shot from Invisible Engine on Vimeo.

P.S. If you're interested in exactly which guys I think are in need of a good cock punching, I'm thinking...

Rush Limbaugh...

Dick Cheney & George W. Bush...

Fasono & Worth...

Those two guy judges on "Dancing with the Stars"...

and of course, Ann Coulter.

Anybody else you think is in need of a good cock punching?

"Tequila - - the Heroin of Alcohol"

This is for Karen. In memory of the margaritas we had on Saturday. And how the two of us can't drink tequila like we used to.

This is the always hilarious Varla Jean Merman and her interpretation of Joe Nichols' hit song, "Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off."

"Someday He'll Come Along, the Man I Love..."

This would be funny if it wasn't so goddamn true.

Where's that bottle of peach schnapps?

"When the Night Has Come and the Land is Dark..."

This just made me weep, as Diane says in The Little Dog Laughed, as if I "had been reunited with a birth parent."

My post about my depression last week led to so many different conversations...

So many people are dealing with the deaths of family members and close friends. So much cancer is ripping through the people that we love. So many of our neighbors have lost their jobs, can't pay their rent and have no way to put food on the table for their children. 

If there was ever a time for us to come together and love, nurture, care and support one another, it is now. It's not just an American problem, it's global. It's not about black or white, gay or straight, old or young, it's all of us. 

I know this clip is almost Speilberg-ian in its manipulation of emotion, but after thinking about all of our current tragedies, I couldn't help crying. I still am.

"Stand by Me" performed by musicians around the world from SKAT on Vimeo.

"What Do I Look Like? Larry Dickman from Des Moines?"

My first iPod...

...the one I bought a little over a year ago...

...the one I almost died retrieving after I had dropped it on the subway tracks...

...the one I lost this past November and then found in December after I had already purchased a replacement

...has a new home.

At dinner last week, my friend Michael mentioned that his iPod had stopped working and he was going to have to buy a new one soon. I told him I had one sitting in a box that wasn't being used and he was more than welcome to it. 

I gave it to him last Friday and in return, he has paid for my ticket to the show that we have been talking about since the Chicago touring date was announced...

Don Rickles at The Venue in the Horseshoe Casino.

Seriously, I cannot wait. I was going to buy a ticket with Michael for this show, but I am so grateful to be going as Michael's guest. And to be sitting on the 6th row!

I always liked Rickles' comedy, but after watching the HBO special documentary, Mr. Warmth: The Don Rickles Project (which you can watch FOR FREE on Hulu here), I've become a Don Rickles adddict, devouring video clip after video clip of Don on YouTube.

His humor feels like Vegas in the 50's while simultaneously staying on the cutting edge, slicing through political correctness with every laugh.

Again, I can't wait!

Here's a little taste of Don from November of last year on The Late Show with David Letterman...

Since we'll be sitting on the 6th row, I'm hoping and praying that I will leave Rickles' show on May 17th having been called a fudgepacker, a cornholer or a butt pirate at least once by the Merchant of Venom himself!

My New Favorite Caption Contest #42

It's taken me almost four months to choose a winner for the last Caption Contest and I'm not sure why. 

I mean, other than my usual tardiness, procrastination and my Scarlett O'Hara, "I'll worry about that tomorrow" way of coping with life.

I think the picture I chose was just too freaky. I wanted to choose a winner for the #41 contest, but the picture kept reminding of that creepy Anthony Hopkins film, Magic. 

The caption contest picture shows a bargain basement ventriloquist's dummy hugging a poor man's Ann-Margaret impersonator, and the movie Magic featured both a ventriloquist's dummy and Ann-Margaret. 

You could tell them apart in the movie because one of them gave a very wooden performance & couldn't even make it to the set without a hand up their ass, and the other one was a ventriloquist's dummy.

So, with all that, I chose to block the picture from my mind. In the same way that I block out certain ex-boyfriends, the crazy-assed Cosby sweaters I wore in the late 80's and most of the lyrics from the musical, Wicked.

But I can't keep blocking it from my mind. The picture, not the Wicked lyrics, I mean.

It's time to choose a winner and I'm going with the caption that Angel from Angel's Crash Pad wrote... 

"Watch, when his dick talks, her vagina moves."

I love it! So wrong, it's right. And I know it's true because that's what I do with my Carol Channing ventriloquist doll. 

Well, I would do that if I actually owned one. And if my ass could be substituted for the vagina mentioned above (Don't say it). And if Carol had a penis. I mean, if the doll version of Carol had a penis. Wait, DOES Carol have a penis? We know she ate corn, but a penis?...

Well, all this "Carol Channing in The Crying Game" nonsense aside, I've chosen a picture for the #42 Caption Contest that is both current, artistic and yet continues the previous contest's theme of a ventriloquist who can't quite keep her hand out of a familiar hole.

Only this time, it's not Ann-Margaret, it's Chita Rivera. And as you can see, Chita has her hand around (and quite possibly in) Karen Olivo.

Karen is in the Broadway revival of West Side Story that just opened last week. She plays Anita, the role Ms. Rivera originated. 

Chita met with Ms. Olivo and the rest of the cast last month. And, as you can see in the picture, Chita did... something... with her hand... to Karen...

Did Chita do that to Rita Moreno when the cast list for the movie version hit the press? Did Rita like it as much as Karen seems to like it?

I'll call Karen and Rita ("Hey, you guys!"). You give these girls a caption. And some lube.

"Drat! The Cat!"

Those you who follow Project Runway the way I do - - with a religious fervor bordering on addiction - - will recognize last season's contestant (and yes, I was tempted to spell that word exactly the way it sounds when referring to) Kenley Collins.

Have you heard that Kenley attacked her (now ex-) fiance, Zak Penley, by throwing one of their two cats on him while he was sleeping?

This proves what we all knew. Anyone who talks to the always lovely Tim Gunn with a rude sass mouth is, at the core of her being, a nutty, psycho bitch.

After throwing the cat on Mr. Penley, Kenley threw her laptop at him (proving that she's also a STUPID, nutty, psycho bitch), slammed his hand in a doorway, doused him with water and ended the fight by throwing three apples at him. (Not two. Three. WTF?)

She is under orders to stay away from Zak's apartment, but this past Wednesday, the police escorted her into the apartment so she could retrieve her belongings.

So, what do you do when your 15 minutes are up and the police have to escort you as you move out of the residence you shared with your ex-fiance? Well, as you can see, you pose for pictures WITH the police, of course! (Sweet Jesus...)

I'm not sure which is crazier - - throwing your cat on your sleeping fiance or marrying that man and changing your name to "Kenley Penley."  I mean, "Shirley Feeney-Meaney," anyone?

"You Are an Anonymous Bitch!"

The Chicago Redeye...

...a free version of the Chicago Tribune, scaled- and dumbed-down for the on-the-go, 20-something who never reads newspapers, even when they're free, scaled- and dumbed-down just for them...

...has a section where a "panel of experts passes judgment on the fashion choices of celebrities and Chicagoans alike." It's called Redeye's Wearwolves.

Get it? "Wearwolves" and not "werewolves." God, they're clever and trendy! Careful not to step in my sarcasm.

I despise the Redeye's Wearwolves. Both the section and the "panel of experts" themselves.

Some photographer from the Redeye goes to a bar on a certain night and takes pictures of a few people; people who just wanted to go out and have a good time with their friends, not walk the runway in Bryant Park. 

From the look of the pictures, these people know they are being photographed, but God only knows if the photographer told them that their photograph will be sent to a selection of fashion nobodies who will then judge, critique and/or mock their clothing choices inside a free, widely distributed "newspaper," for lack of a better word.

For example, this is what Fasano & Worth (who, I believe, own His Stuff in Andersonville) had to say about this gentleman's outfit...

"I have that same outfit— to walk my dog in."

Wow. That's so not funny. At all. Insult comedy is hard, isn't it, guys?

You know, Fasano & Worth, if you were even slightly funny or if your critiques were more helpful than hurtful, it might make me forget what incredible douchebag assholes you both are. 

The two of you have been making mean-spirited, nasty "What Not to Wear" comments from behind the curtain of the Great and Powerful Oz for far too long.

So, here's what I propose. The next time that Fasano & Worth are out walking their dog, someone needs to take their picture, upload it on the Redeye's site and allow the people of Chicago to give them our opinion of their fashion choices. 

And not just when they're walking the dog. I want to see what these fags wear at a bar, at the supermarket, as they leave the gym, as they leave the emergency room where they've been screaming at the ER doctor, "I don't know how it got there, just get it out!" - - everywhere.

After all their bitchy, catty critiques, it's time for these queens to take their medicine. And as my Dad says, "Paybacks are a motherfucker."

While we wait for the day when we'll be able to judge the local fashion judges, let's enjoy Whoopi Goldberg's response to an article in TV Guide by Ingela Ratledge that criticized Whoopi's clothing choices saying...

"You come to work looking like you're ready to make a run to Costco."

You can imagine what Whoopi had to say about that on The View.

This made me cheer...

Fratboy Friday

BOYS IN CAPS

"If I had a hammer, I'd hammer in the morning..."

****




SAGGERS

Sweatpants have never looked so good.

Those particular sweatpants would look better on my
bedroom floor, but still...




****

MOONERS

If they had shown this in that Little Giant Ladder infomercial,
I would have bought one. Per night.




****



DAMN, I WAS DRUNK LAST NIGHT

The guy in the middle is so hot, staring at the camera with eyes that seem to say,
"I'm hungry for love. Set the table."

The other two are staring at the camera with eyes that seem to say,
"I'm Not the Sharpest Cheese on the Platter."

Not that there's anything wrong with that...

"But Rick, Hide Me! Do Something! You Must Help Me! RICK!"

I just saw this picture of Katie Holmes on the Chicago Tribune's site and I'm sorry, this woman is in trouble.

Being Tom Cruise's wife must be pretty fucked up if it can turn Katie Holmes into Peter Lorre!


And not just ANY Peter Lorre, but Peter Lorre as Napoleon (wtf?!?)!

I guess Tom wanted her to resemble a bud-eyed man who was closer to his height.
















Apparently, when director Vincent Sherman asked Peter Lorre how he endured playing Mr. Moto in eight films, Lorre replied...

"I took dope."

Let's hope and pray Katie's got a good dealer.

"Debbie, When Life's Got You Down..."

Last night, I hit Trader Todd's with Michael for a quick bite (and a quick hug from the always beautiful and cheerful Sandy) before we took in the opening night of Porchlight Music Theatre's "Pacific Overtures."

How can I be depressed when I'm listening to the song that Sondheim considers to be his favorite song he's ever written ("Someone in a Tree")? And how can I be depressed when Charissa is there - - in red boots!

I think, to get myself out the rest of my bad mood, I should follow Debbie's advice from this video...

That may not make me feel better, but it would sure make being depressed a Hell of a lot more fun!

"But You've Got to Have Friends..."

I've been in a dark place for quite a long time. Feels like months. Maybe even years.

I slide deeper into it and occasionally, I almost crawl out of it, but it still surrounds me. There are days when the darkness is palpable.

There are days, like the last few days, where I barely make it through work and when I get home, I crash on my couch in all of my clothes and sleep there for the entire night.

I could blame it on a lot of things, but it's me. It's me not getting out. It's me feeling ugly and fat and untalented and stupid. It's me not doing anything to contradict those feelings.

But I'm blessed with friends. Friends like Philip; he checks up on me and is always there when I need to talk. Friends like Karen, who is also there when I need to talk and who, for no reason at all, sent me this picture - - a virtual "group hug"...

Thanks, Karen. It's hard to continue to be depressed after a group hug like that.

"Oh Danny Boy, Oh Boy, Oh Boy... Oh Danny"

In honor of St. Patrick's Day, I give you "Danny Boy." 

As the kids today say, "Best Danny Boy Evar!"

See more funny videos and funny pictures at CollegeHumor.

"Ken Leee, Tulibu Dibu Douchoo"

My good friend Bea from Feeling Kinda Blog Today sent me this video last Friday and I can't stop watching it.

To say that it makes me laugh would be an understatement.

It's a clip from the Bulgarian version of American Idol with English subtitles.

This is Valentina Hasen auditioning for the show's second season singing Mariah Carey's song, "Ken Lee."

Come on, you know the song, "Ken Lee."

It's very similar to "Hucka the Bajeepers."

"You're So Gay and You Don't Even Like Boys"

Last night, I watched HBO's live telecast of Will Ferrell's next to last performance of his Broadway show, You're Welcome America: A Final Night with George W. Bush.

I was never a huge fan of Will Ferrell's comedy, but a couple of years ago, my father decided to follow-up our traditional, late night Christmas viewing of Christmas Vacation ("Shitter was full!") with Ferrell's Talladega Nights: The Legend of Ricky Bobby. I wasn't thrilled about watching it, but by the time we got to the scene with Ferrell saying grace, praying to "tiny, infant baby Jesus," I was hooked. He's a brilliantly funny man.

And his Broadway show is hilarious. I called my father to see if he was watching it, since my dad is a fan of both Will Ferrell and George W. Bush.

But my dad wasn't watching Will Ferrell. He was watching Graham Norton. So, as I told him the day I was stuck in a Chicago blizzard and he called to tell me he was at a Cher concert...

"Ummm, Dad. Exactly which one of us is the homosexual here?"

He laughed his ass off, but if I find out my father is buying Judy Garland cd's or if he starts describing things as "fabulous," the two of us are going to have a talk. 

I don't mean to be a bitch, but regardless of who comes out of the closet, I'm "King of the Gay People" in my family. I claimed it a long time ago. After my brother came out, I visited him in Atlanta and he introduced me to a few of his friends. After talking to them for quite awhile, one of them asked me, "Oh, are you gay too?" I said, "No, I was gay first!" 

Just sayin'...

"Now, the World Don't Move to the Beat of Just One Drum"

Once again, I ask the powers that be why Philip is not writing for a sitcom.

Because earlier today, Philip sent me a text. It was his take on this week's announcement that the Sears Tower will soon be renamed Willis Tower...

"What'choo talkin' 'bout, Sears?"

And before you ask (or before someone out there decides to steal Philip's line and this idea), plans for a "What'choo talkin' 'bout, Sears?" t-shirt have already begun. 

Fratboy Friday

It's only days away, so why not a St. Patrick's Day edition of Fratboy Friday...

BOYS IN CAPS

St. Patrick's Day is one of the few days of the year when people actually wear hats (cheap, plastic, novelty hats, that they occasionally throw up in, but still, hats are worn).

 And like the t-shirts, the beer, the food and everything that comes afterwards 

(to put it mildly), all the hats are green.

That's why, if I saw the guy on the left, I would want to blow him. And I would walk up to him and tell him that I wanted to blow him. Because I admired his bold color choice. And I would blow him. Simply because he wore a $4, yellow hat on St. Patrick's Day. 

So many of the reasons that I'm still single, they're all right there in that paragraph. I mean, does anybody else offer a "Wear a Yellow Hat and Get a Free Blowjob" special? Who's going to buy this cow when they can wear a yellow hat and get a blowjob for free? 

****

SAGGERS

This is how St. Patrick's Day is celebrated at a Chicago Bulls game by the Chicago Bulls Matadors. I love these guys! And this, my friends, is a Chicago sagger!

Also, I love the green, Hulk nipples. Just don't make him angry. 

You wouldn't like his nipples when he's angry. 

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MOONERS

Most people describe the fratboy butts that I post as "cute," "muscled, " "tight," "hot," and "Here, have a seat... on my face," but these guys... well... 

These butts are more real. In your 20's, gravity doesn't even affect you. So, it's a shock when your ass goes from "hot" to "Jello mold" during your 30th birthday party. You don't know what to do after that.

Which is why I believe the message of the picture above is that, even if you know you're going to get drunk on St. Patrick's Day, that doesn't mean you have to show your ass in public. 

Keep it in your pants. Which brings me to... 

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DAMN, I WAS DRUNK LAST NIGHT

Before you celebrate on Tuesday night, don't forget to wear your sparkly, St. Patrick's Day beer goggles. You'll need them when your drunken self scores a St. Paddy's Day trick.

 Because, when it comes to the one-night stand your drunk ass will meet in a dark bar, kiss for the first time beside a green river, and later have sex with while they continue to wear a plastic, felt-covered St. Pat's hat with the matching green sideburns attached, do you want your eyes to tell you the truth?

(The truth is that you're fucking a 2, and even if you fuck a 2 five times, it still won't make them a 10!!! That's the truth. And you can't handle the truth!!!), 

You'd rather have your eyes lie to you, right?

 (Meaning that your eyes will see a 2, show your mind a 10 and then remind your mind that, if you drink one more green beer, with this knob, that 10 can go all the way up to 11).

Sure, you'll regret it Wednesday morning and you might spend the afternoon giving a chemical peel to the inside of your mouth, but in the middle of it all, you can look at this guy...

...and if you're wearing the green beer goggles, you'll see this guy...

(FYI: What you're looking at is not at 11, yet. But when those boxers come off, it's an 11 alright. And then some...)

So, wear the beer goggles. But the next day, try not to think about where your tongue has been. 

Just keep gargling and flossing. That taste will go away eventually.