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She just won’t go away. GO AWAY! GO Awaaaay! Who? Hill-Rod, as she was affectionately nicknamed this past week when she’d sucked enough lower middle-class white cocks and pandered all over their faces with her love of wrasslin’, KFC, and guns. M’kay? Barry Obama tried his darnedest to relate to them, but he barely made a dent. Not gonna finish the waffle and sausage, Barry? You ain’t gettin their vote. Politics is a game, and Obama bowled too many gutter balls. Fine.

No, what's frustrated me recently--especially as a homo thug (yeah, I’m butch and straight-acting, deal.) is this so-called Diva Theory as a way to explain Hillary’s appeal to the certain portion of the electorate, namely gays like Josh and Josh:

There is something weird going here. Hillary is the diva, the fabulous woman who is fabulous just because she says so. She’s the woman who is abused (by her husband), ridiculed (by the press), hated (by Republican mouth-breathers), yet she’s still standing. She’s like from some exploitation film where the heroine is beaten and barely raped before pulling a knife out of her sock and slicing the mean guy’s balls off. Her supporters have stood by her and fought her battles with her - and sometimes for her - since the 1990s. The emotional connection runs too deep. R-e-s-p-e-c-t, she shakes her finger. Find out what it means to me. And the crowd eats it up.

Finished? And here I thought the silly season of the presidential race began when Bill accused Barry of playing the race card on him. It was the gays! Never mind that a diva is typically an entertainer who is charismatic and sassy and has razor sharp wit. No, Hillary is a diva because she suffered; and us gays like a good victim who continues to show a bit of moxie in the face of a mean bully. Not me. This is an insult to an already unappealing label and to the entire queer community. True, for arguments sake, gay gendered males do have a certain affinity for an attractive no nonsense gal with style, but this is a Presidential Election not some tickety-tacky episode of American Idol where we vote to save a talented Queen from talentless drones.

Oh what does it matter anyway? Her clothes. That hair!

SHUT. UP.

Turn off the Ugly Better,get off your Crate & Barrel sofa, and stop for just one moment and judge her based on policy positions and record rather than on her fabulous victim hood and dodging political sniper fire. She’s a politician. Hill-Rod would take out any of you; and as Melissa Ethridge once suggested, throw you “under a bus” to get to the top. She’s arguably riding a wave of vaguely racist lower-middle class white sentiment to the nomination. What makes you think she will defend your faggity ass once she takes office, at best she’ll repeal DOMA, signed by her own partner-hubby, Bill.

DOMA? Is that like Nobu. LOVESIT! Do we need rezzies?

Exactly, make reservations here by pressing the shiny red button.

The Pope-a-Ratzi is in town! Happy Mexicans are coming out of the shadows to see him. But guess who’s not so feliz lately? Why, it’s your favorite Junior Senator from New York and aspiring Editor in Chief of these United States, HRC. Despite winning a majority of the votes from the most important voting bloc in the country, Hillary just can’t seem to woe the superdelegates as much as Barry Obama. ¿Cuál es un superdelegate, mista? Oh silly! They are peeps with large amount$ of street cred in the Democratic party and lately Team Clinton just cannot siphon off their support for him. Poor Shmoops.

So it came as no surprise to me when over an VIP breakfast at Balthazar with the Pope, that he himself would publicly endorse Barack Obama. HOLY MOLY! I nearly spit up my eggs en concotte on his sour cream hazelnut waffles. Is that even possible?

“It shall be done!” he declared.

Word.

It got me thinking, if his holiness could come out for Barry O then who else would be in line to embrace Hope™ and endorse him. Who is secretly jacking off to all this promise of Change™ and his audacious audacity? (And more important, can they explain the Economy to me cause we appear to be DOOMED.) To celebrate this revelation, I traipsed over to THE gay waterhole in Brooklyn, the Met, for some vodis and asked some informed fagatrons who they thought might be secretly creaming for the Barry.

• “Honey, honey, I’ll have a whisssly soda” (9%)
• “Totes Rachel Ray. The bitch loves fusion.” (50% );
• “Oh! Prince Harry, or Philip, whichever, they’re both super cute.” (%40);
• “Isn’t John McCain the prez?” (1%)*

All of this hardly matters since by the time we have a Democratic nominee people will be too distracted by the Wars in Iran, in China vis-à-vis Taiwan, in North Korea, and with the janjaweed in Darfur.

erudite friend:  the sepia tones on this make me want to vomit

gamby: who is that white man with the funny name running for office?

erudite friend: Is that his housekeeper or his cook sitting next to him?

gamby: wait that isn't condi? ohhhh he's a DEMOCRAT, those kids must be from war-torn darfur then?

erudite friend: That woman was once a beggar in Zimbabwe and that white man saw that she could still be civilized with a little HOPE.  The children were rented.

Oui, Elle mmm, Non oui.
Vodka, caramel, chewing gum, fraise, mini-jupe, des carresses, en amoureux

Je poses mon skate et mes nikes à l'entrée
Quand je croise direct les yeux d' Chloé
Je suis tout rouge et je m'sens chaviré
Faut que je trouve le moyen d' l'embrasser
Faut que j'en parle à mon pote, qui m'invite
C'est sa cousine il sais ptetre c'est quoi son type
Et pis qui sais après 10 verre de gin, je lui frai voir vas-y c'est qui le king
Et pis apres on ira dans la chambre faire des calins comme dans les films de cul

Vodka, caramel, chewing gum, fraise, mini-jupe des carresses, en amoureux

On démoli ton sous-sol, voici les rois de l'école
On vole l'alcool de tes parents
On kick ton chat hors de notre champs, est-ce que c'est elle ta grande soeur
Sens mon doigt quelle odeur, non ce n'est pas du beurre
C'est que j'ai doigté ta soeur, j'me rappelle de mes 14 ans comme si c'étais hier car je suis encore un adolescent toujours un peu trop fier
Je t'ai regardé tu M'a souris, j'ai sentis qu'jdevenais un homme chewing gum sous la table
Jme sers un verre appetit et sociable je rêve qu'on va presque l'faire

Vodka, caramel, chewing gum, fraise, mini-jupe, des carresses, en amoureux

Ton sourire m'apelle des souvenirs, ce n'est dans ma tête, je vois ton corps nu

Vodka, caramel, chewing gum fraise, mini-jupe, des carresses, en amoureux 

have Al Gore worried, but for 48 hours all the sun and shine this past weekend made me incredibly giddy: Spring! Hooray! T'was all but a milky dream, =sigh= and now I'm stuck in a concrete building. Yes, granted the sun still shines on, but alas i cannot squat myself in a park all day, drinking prosecco and consuming endless amounts of nibbly things nor bob and weave Has-sids on my fabulous new pink bike, heyyyyyy!

are good times, happy times for all, especially when you didnt really expect to end up at one. i honestly thought i was just going to play endless amounts of katamari damacy (BEST GAME EVERRRR! [16 year old boy voice]) with a gaggle of boys but instead i walked in on a plot to get me drunk. the nerve. i had just dined with two lovely ladies of eastern williamsburg--anything past Lorimer is not central williamsburg, people, please, where we noshed on tapenade, prosciutto and olives and chatted endlessly about traveling abroad to find yourself, ie, getting laid real good and the virtues of coffee. so i was content on finishing the night off with more lazy leisure. what's more, most were up in arms about some NorEaster--whatever that is, and ditched the urban frontier. but i digress. Upstairs from our game playing some artist decided that all possible gay hipster themes for parties had been exhausted, and that his soul purpose that night was to up the anté and explore a new frontier. cue dripping sarcasm. oh course you had your 1950s television sets playing endless loops of performance artists and  loads of libations thrown around (dont forget the whippets in the back room, which, for some reason has also become another staple with these dudes) all supervised by a guy named Jack with a turbin. But the prancy asian girl who successfully seduced me was unprecedented. hello! things are looking up again in Brooklyn.

A chair has a purpose--even in some loft of an artsy birthday fellow, no matter how pleasing to the eye, it must serve this purpose: to allow you to sit. to sit! i challenged conventional wisdom one sad evening. eh. at least i had good cake.



and then I sat too long, apparently on art, for art's sake.

UPDATE: More evidence of hilary's support for a New World Order, "The horrible thing about the Two Minutes Hate was not that one was obliged to act a part, but that it was impossible to avoid joining in. Within thirty seconds any pretense was always unnecessary."

it's so early in this election year and already the internets are a'blazin' --god i'm excited.

so while you were sleeping the world slipped into a Depression and some senior administration official was nearly blown to quail bits in afganistan. oh yeah, and Angelina Jolie IS GOING TO JOIN THE COUNCIL ON FOREIGN RELATIONS to help, WTF?.  whatevs'. no need to worry when the world keeps churning out hilarity such as this. To think japan was once an enemy to the American way. We can only hope in many moons, Iraqis are as heavily influenced by our flamboyance.

this is from the Westminster Kennel Club doggie show but is also serving as a metaphor for my ability to love and care presently, enjoy!

your moment of zen after a day of sugary treats and gift exchanging, among other things. mine was mostly spent putting together a complicated wooden kitchen set and discussing the resurrection with a brazen Austrian and an ebullient Dominican woman, and then finally playing drunken games with a slew of kids in brooklyn. How was yours? See you at New Years!

i mean. come on!



is mister Pope supposed to be welcoming and seasonal here? cause honestly i wouldn't place any of my kiddies on his lap. that hand looks as if it might melt your soul. happy holidays!

apparently YOU, yes YOU, are Time's Person of the Year. Why YOU is beyond me, cause you never did give me what I wanted for my birthday: a new pair of loafers from Korea. and YOU never actually call me. only text text text textes. some of YOU do deserve said accolade. you attended my v.special birthday dinner gathering this past friday and should be commended for it, thank you.

said birthday party was at a lovely Italian restaurant in ba-rooklyn. williamsburg, to be exact. i was especially pleased cause my old buddy from college showed up from the depths of Virgina where she is doing the Phd. dance one does when you are in your mid twenties. or do you? we dined on fresh pastas accompanied with a number of bitter cheeses and delectable wines. afterwards we all ate vegan birthday cupcakes at a golden girls-themed party a few blocks away. (we could have eaten them at the restaurant but the waitress insisted on charging us each money for infiltrating her establishment with soy-induced baked goods. bitch.)


i hadn't planned on going to the party thrown in a cramped apartment decorated with pinks lights & balloons, while episodes of the golden girls played in the background--but the number of gay men dressed in grandma clothing as blanche was indeed enough icing on my birthday cake (hardy har har). we'd planned to stop by for a just a quick hello and then take off to a "crazy experimental theatre party" in park slope, but the latter never happened as we had ADD at that hour. instead, we played photo shoot in the kitchen and got tipsy off of cheap wine one defers to in college. at one point the main party thrower discovered my inability to handle being nipple pinched and chased me around this cramped one bedroom apartment, as if he were my older brother who really should just die and leave me alone. i couldn't help but laugh and indulge him though. afterall, this was the same gay who throws the colored-themed parties and in fact at the very last one, silver, had found myself in his bedroom doing somethin naughty with one of his friends. i felt guilt:  i believe his first reaction to me was (in southern drawl), now, i don't mind if you do that sort of thing, by all means, but please don't lock my bedroom door, that was bad.

indeed. we left soon after where i found myself yet again at metropolitan bar where i spyed the Dude, actually, whom i hadn't seen in almost a year. fortunately he hardly recognized me as i am now a skinhead who only wears flannels.

i then awoke saturday afternoon feeling even more cavalier and ended up at a christmas party in boerum hill far too early, surrounded by too many ivy-league educated straight women, liberal artsy straight men, straight women who looked liked liberal artsy lesbians, hampshire lesbians who i mistakened for Smith girls and about three hippies gays, all looking to have conversations with only their friends, which is usually the case for house parties. (i expect better from intelligent adults after they have had a few drinks. let go. come on.)  

by 11 EST time (subjective time: 3AM) a group of my gay buddies showed up thereby giving me license to be shameless buffoon, e.g., dry humping my girl-friends as i pontificated on penis size with my gay male friends. and then yet again, yes. wait for it, ended up at metropolitan --only this time i was there for what felt like a record 5 minutes as i could hardly feel my appendages. i then took a taxi home with dingywhite  dropped him off in state (love you!) and then had the most riveting conversation with the driver about george bush and his state of denial. i never sounded so articulate. (who are these cabbies?)








waking up sunday morning was all but impossible as i had to be at a christie's auction house brunch breakfast in midtown, to meet my uncle who is an art dealer. (he essentially buys a lot of expensive bric-a-brac  for his dozen or so wealthy upper eastside clients.) it was packed with moneyed dandies and old ladies in furs with small dogs in bags. i just sat on a Biedermeierr chair, worth more than YOUR life, drinking mimosas and nibbled on cream cheese and lox bagels, petite ones. 

i then ended up seeing casino royale with him cause it was all my brain could handle, which happened to be sexy and entertaining. at one point some nasty old woman bitch hit my seat solely cause i took out my phone to check the time. i mean, really, is the faint glow of my small sprintpcs phone that distracting from such a intricate plot. i then said some goodbyes to a friend who had come up to visit me for my birthday and had really really honestly wanted to go home early but remembered that i had promised a friend that he could get me a drink in a gay bar for my belated birthday. tsk tsk. friend brought some cute guy friend who turned out to actually have a boyfriend of four years but despite this chatted me up and whispered in my ear under the influence that he wanted my number so we could hang out some time. bad. for the record i am not that sort of guy, and won't be the guy who breaks up the attractive man and his mormon boyfriend --even though he was incredibly charming with his whole 'i attended west point academy and can probably wrestle you with my thumb' persona, i decided now that i am old(er) i need to stop indulging in this behavior especially invitations from boys with serious relationships. i did that once and nearly created war world iii or is it five.


















and happy holidays from the real commander in chief: