Kim Kardashian and the Sanctity of Marriage

Two vapid people prove that if they can marry and divorce in record time, there truly is no reason why two men or two women can tie the knot sincerely and formalize their unions. Thanks, Kim - you disgusting, empty girl - for making your marriage a marketing strategy for raking in lots of bling. After all, nothing spells out everlasting love like millions of dollars and endless sponsorships from media outlets. You just secured a valid spot in the debate for same-sex marriage around the globe. You go, girl, and you cash in that check and do what it is you do best, which is contribute nothing to the intelligent world.

Stink, Stank, Stunk

Michele Bachmann and her newest frenemy, Bradlee Dean

It's no surprise to anyone that Michele Bachmann will not answer a simple question thrown at her. Reparative therapy? Gay suicides in her disctrict? Nope. It's just not in her bones, or her genes. The lady is as mum as if she suddenly had forgotten that the use of her tongue, her mouth muscles, and even her teeth create words, and words upon words, when threaded correctly, yield beautiful coherency. However, she will as the automaton that she has become, stare blankly at the camera and go into her Irish jig that simply spells out that she is running for President, that she is not here to contest this or that, that she will create job, and on and on, snore, change the channel, please.

To me it's particularly hilarious when one of their own renounces the cult of Bachmann, ostensibly because they've seen the crazy that she represents. Bradlee Dean, a man I do not follow or listen to because I have better things to do, is the latest in Bachmann detractors. If you look at his visage - and I checked his page which hosts the mini-movie My War - you'll note that he sports the looks of a man Heavy Metal left behind, with long hair tied in a ponytail or worn under a bandana, leather gear, you know. The works. I'm not saying this is superficial cause to dismiss him. Again, I don't know what he's about (although I do know he does not heart the gays, Obama, and lawyers). But the fact that he heard Bachmann on a radio show being asked a simple question (where have I heard that before?) and that she dodged it as it is her wont, prompting the quote that follows, drew a smile onto my face.

Said Dean on his radio show:

I was listening to a radio show, and she was asked a question and she would not answer the question. And it's like you are such a great, upstanding, upright, citizen that you cannot answer the question that was just asked you. She was asked two different times. She kept going to the left. She would not answer the question. And the next thing you know, she starts talking about her presidential campaign - what she was going to do and jobs this and jobs that. That's not what he asked you, lady - just answer the question.

Dean went on to say:

It's an issue of integrity here, right? To her everlasting shame, she didn't want to answer the question and I thought it was rather, what do I say, shameful. I thought it was shameful conduct that she couldn't answer the question because if she's doing that now, what would she do if she was in the White House? It jacked me up.

It's like the guy that walks around with an open container of cheese, you know those little string-cheese deals, in his pocket," he said on the radio, comparing Bachmann to stinky cheese. "Everybody's trying to figure out, 'Where's that smell coming from? You stink you stink.' And everybody knows who stinks, they're just trying to figure out why that individual stinks. Well, go look. But that individual's walking around with their nose up in the air like they're all that and a bag of chips. And she doesn't realize everybody's looking at her, like, 'Lady, you stink.'

Happy Halloween!

Party safely.

Jed Hooper: Out of the Closet

Until today I hadn't the slightest idea who Jed Hooper was, but one of the many push notifications I receive made me aware of his existence. The captain of the Old Redcliffian rugby team, Hooper, 22, made the decision to come out because in his own words:

"I met someone earlier this year who said he could not be with someone who was in the closet. That, basically, was the catalyst that I needed. Before that, I think I had already told about ten friends and their reaction was very positive so that gave me an inkling of what might happen. And I also thought if the crap really hits the fan then at least there are ten people on my side!"

So he essentially told everyone in one fell swoop in a Facebook post, and while he admits he felt a moment of "what the fuck did I just do?", it was out there . . . and the response was overwhelmingly positive, even from his own team.

Just goes to show the good that can come out if you are true to yourself and can face your own face, without fear.

The Bolt Behind the Blue

Daddy's Slutty New Shorts

Burrita Muy Caliente

I don't know what the fuck is going on in Zimbabwe. Earlier in the month I had a little story fall on my lap about the unusual habits of female prostitutes luring men into dubious sex only to force them to hand 'em over their spunk. Now something else happens on the opposite side of the crazy spectrum. A man of the interesting name Sunday Moyo was apprehended last Sunday (geddit?) because he was caught with his pants down porking a donkey. He claimed that the unglamorous, hee-hawing animal wasn't precisely that when he met her, but a luscious, female, human prostitute who was ready for action in exchange of a small profit and a big bang. Cuckold he not to know that the human prosti was also a cleve shapeshifter, and as as he willfully slammed the contents of his vas deferens into her engorged labia, screaming into the skies, she skillfully transmogrified into a four-legged animal who may or may not have been dispassionately chomping away at a clump of grass as the cops pulled in for the kill.

After all, no prosti wants to be caught dead in the act of committing a crime, right? So fuck Sunday, he can now be charged for bestiality.

Unusual Predicament

Yes, that's exactly how my Friday night went down! Why didn't I have this number on hand then? I could saved myself so much grief!

Love is in the Air....

Herman Cain Wants You to Believe that Being Gay is a 'Choice' and a 'Sin'

[source]

I guess it took all the gains the LGBT community has gained in today's society to experience the full brunt of all of the haters coming out of the woodwork in droves to in one way or another express their absolute disdain and ignorance at what we represent - which is basically, that we're no different than anyone else. A little over a week ago it was New Jersey teacher who has come under intense scrutiny for her hateful rant on her Facebook page and now faces pressure from LGBT advocates to be dismissed by the state from teaching. [And she should, but that's another story.]

Now it's another politician and presidential hopeful of the interesting name Herman Cain who's making his debut by pontificating that we gays, man-fuckers, and overall disgusting perverts are sinful and that we choose to be gay. You know - the way I or you choose GAP or American Living over Kenneth Cole in order to save a buck (although come to think of it, the difference is not that great in price). Now, while I like to roll around in a bevy of bucks, I cannot for the life of me admit that this was my choice. You see, I've known that I one day would prefer to be in a bed of hot muscle fuckers all catering to yours truly since that morning when I pilfered a bodybuilding magazine (then little more than a black and white rag) and saw not only myself, but who I wanted to be next. So if Mr. Cain can please prove to us observers that overall faggotry is a choice and something you can switch on or off, and if he has video of us being transported by a glamorous bus down to the fiery caves of hell, I am all eyes and ears.

Of course, I still won't stop fucking men. They're too . . . delicious. Like those Lindl chocolates.

Oh, yum . . . now I need one. Ugh. These cravings. . . .

New Talent: Chloe and Halle Bailey

Pay attention to these sisters: Chloe and Halle Bailey and listen to their remarkably choreographed cover of Beyonce's Love on Top, taken from her recently released 4.

After the Weekly Grind...

A little visual stimulation to start the weekend in style.

The Other Way Around

Deadly Women: Barbie

It was only time before Barbie, tired of never being able to have sex with the penis-less Ken, would snap.

The World, According to Americans

America Number ONE!! (er something)

Shocking Video from China: Two-Year Old Run Over Twice... and No One Came to Help

I'm finding this video difficult to even look at... but it must be viewed, so one can see the absolute lack of mercy and compassion shown to a toddler in Foshan, China who was run over as of this writing a full day ago. It's not the accident per se -- they do happen all over the world -- but that the video shows people walking right by her, even looking at her little body quivering on the asphalt... and doing zippo to help. It took one lady who scavenges for a living to finally acknowledge the nearly-dead girl.

According to MyFox Boston and Newsource, the little girl, identified as Yue Yue, has died after sustaining injuries to her head. The driver of the van has been arrested, and this was what he had to say which is incredible:

"If it was you who hit someone, you'd run too. You can see the little girl, looking around when she walked. If she walked properly, how could I hit her?"

If she walked properly... so in essence, it wasn't he should have hit the brakes and go out of his van to question/call out to the girl's parents, but the little girl who was at fault for "not walking properly". But of course. Everyone knows toddlers barely above crawling on their knees in a crib can walk like adults and recognize a moving vehicle as impending danger and move out of the line of their advance.

So this is what the world has become, people. It reminds me of a similar situation of a homeless man who was left to die on a New York street after he thwarted a stabbing. It tells me that you can see a situation unfold, know there are cameras all over, but do nothing to help. And yet we stop for injured animals on the road. Aren't we just... peachy?

Video below - VERY graphic.

Zimbabwe and the Milky Way

..."they took what they wanted..."

If you're a guy who hasn't had a vasectomy and you're planning on hitting Africa as places that are on your bucket list to see, try to avoid Zimbabwe for the time being. It so happens that recently a trio of women were arrested for driving around the country, luring unsuspecting hitchhikers... and then raping them. When they were arrested 31 condoms were found in their possession, each full of semen. You see, while in America it would be a situation where man-hating women would "strike back at the male oppressor" and chop off his manhood, in Zimbabwe, these "female rapists" don't seem to rape for power but for Power. Let me rephrase that. In Zimbabwe, semen is said to give the user powers and beauty and good luck and whatnot, so these women would force their men to jizz, they'd collect their junk in condoms, and off they'd go.

And apply their newly acquired jizz a-a-a-all over their face. Or hair.


So if you're ever in Zimbabwe and you spot a lady with her face covered in what looks like cold cream, just assume that it is quite the opposite. And that she might want yours next. And that she'd might not be too nice in asking you for it even if you're as gay as Richard Simmons sweatin' to the oldies and lisping all the way to Pluto. There was an instance where a guy was threatened with a snake by one of the now-captured prosties, and that was just because they were being cute and girlish and sexy.

...where you might get milked to death!

The Comfort of Schadenfreude

I'm rarely at a loss of words for anything. So imagine my silent gape as I saw the kid puking his guts out in front of Fuse TV last night as I made my way towards the PATH train station which would whisk me home. It wasn't a little bit of puke - this was 13 year-old Linda Blair-possessed-by-the-Devil puke. I'd rate it not as thick, split pea but more of a combination of ham, minestrone, with a hint of pumpkin and chicken pot pie. Let's say I didn't get too close to make an assessment so I decided in my mind this was what he barfed out, what became his contribution to the City.

And thank God for wide sidewalks and the lack of rush-hour people traffic. I was able to observe from a safe distance while never venturing too close into the line of liquid fire. Wouldn't you? Of course you would, you self-involved city-dweller decked in designer labels and living in over-priced apartments, contemplating your fate as you look disdainfully at the Occupy Wall Street people from the safety of your own computer and think, "That poor woman at Citibank getting arrested just for closing her account. Oh well, better her than me!" That was the thought racing through my mind as I saw him regurgitating profusely onto the pavement: "Better him than me."

No, you wouldn't come close to him the same way you wouldn't dare place your fat-ass on top of a piss-drenched subway seat for fear of, well, the horror. And let's face it: no one wants a pissy bottom. Especially being a single gay New Yorker in times of crisis, which to me means finding an adequate husband whilst looking good in the process. Not good if you then spoil the ensemble you are wearing because some overeager Long Island native had the poor judgment to choose booze over sanity and wound up a hot mess in the Middle of it All. A hot mess that morphed into a raging fire-hose packed in nasty. Nasty flying at you at 90 miles an hour. Pee-you.

And would you think his friends, all pretty young things, helped? But of course they didn't. There they stood in a tight little circle around him, detached, desensitized, some with phones, filming the event, and not a single one saying, "Dude. You sure you're all right? You sure we don't need to call an ambulance?" Oh, well. Good for them. It's one of the things I love about New York. People can be so helpful for all the wrong reasons. To think: by tomorrow Spilled His Guts will be on YouTube, a viral sensation, the short clip getting over a million views and counting. And all he had to do was have a few too many drinks by midnight when the night was young and semi-pass out on 33rd and 7th. Sometimes I feel life in the city can't get any better....

Zachary Quinto Comes Out

Zachay Quinto, to no one's surprise, has come out, but before I go snarky I'll say I'm glad. Too many actors and celebs out there who clearly should let go out of their walk-in closet in light of a rainbow spotlight decide it's better to be in the dark and look the [straight] part. He made his decision and I'm all for it. Now if he could only lift a little bit of weights, he'd be absolutely yummy.

Frank Kameny: The Loss of a Great American LGBT Hero

Kameny in 2009

I can't imagine what it was to live in the dark ages of our country's return to complacency following the Second World War. Already if you had odd acquaintances you could be btanded a Commie, a Red. It was no different for the homosexual men and women from those years, the ones who weren't the privileged few who managed to secure jobs as entertainers on Broadway and Hollywood in front or behind the camera, the scant few who made a living as published authors of stories, books, or movie and art critics and fashionistas. Those even today are the vast minority - many of us work in the field, in a virtual rainbow of occupations. We lead companies, as Apple CEO Tim Cook who has succeeded the late Steve Jobs and now may claim the title of the most powerful gay man in America if not the world. We may now openly enlist and serve in the military. We may marry in 6 out of 50 states - a number that I predict will increase dramatically in the next 5 years. We influence the media, we influence the masses. We can even make or break a politician. We have a voice - the voice of the queerbait, the faggot who shall not be silenced. And that is good. Gay is good.

But back then, it wasn't as cool or hip or even metrosexual. You could have your entire life ruined in a single snap of fingers if caught having a gay tryst, anywhere - a dark bar, a truck in the Meat Market, the Piers, the Park, a bathroom. You could lose your job even if you were suspected to be homosexual. You basically had no choice but to go stealth, and either force yourself to marry a woman, have kids with her, and later on have the discreet escapade with a two-bit prostitute from Times Square. Of course, needless to say, the most ferocious persecutors were none other than self-hating gays themselves - allegedly, of course - and if you've read the books the names will pop up repeatedly as heads of organizations, politicians, and high-powered attorneys who got paid lots of money to destroy lives while they donned women's outfits, rented go-go boys, and took extensive cruises where the booze flowed free and no one asked questions.

Yet one man stood true to himself, and this was well before Stonewall. Frank Kameny was his name. You probably may not know who he is as Harvey Milk is more recent. Kameny was a New Yorker born in May of 1925 who already in 1940 was pursuing a degree in physics when he enlisted in the Armed Forces in World War II and who later completed a degree in astronomy from Harvard. Quite a feat, don't you think? All he planned to do was to teach and eventually retire.

It was a fluke incident - him being at a cruising spot in DC - that probably spiked what would eventually become Stonewall and the rest of the American gay rights movement as we know and live it. One wonders what might have happened if he had not cruised Lafayette Park that day, if the rumors of his homosexuality might not have leaked out and caused his barring from all federal employment, where would we be? Who knows. However, the fact remains - it took the repeated slamming of the doors of his constitutional rights to start a movement, small but crucial: The Mattachine Society. This and many other efforts created the foundation where we can stand on and walk in relative freedom even though there is still much to be done. And it is because of a man like Kameny that in an ironic twist of fate, the Director of the Office of Peronnel Management, John Berry, openly gay, presented Kameny with the Theodore Roosevely Award and formally apologized to Kameny for his unfair firing in 1957.

For more reading:
glbtq: Frank Kameny

Occupy Sesame Street?

Looks like shit just got a whole case of real on Sesame Street.

Big Spender

It's all over the fucking Internet and getting bigger than Occupy Wall St. It's not political, it's not a viral video, it's not even a meme gone batcrap. But it speaks to what seems to be happening in the world today - that people can be fucktards and practically ram it down your throat for you to take it and shut up. You see, last Friday night a guy of the name Andrew who allegedly works at Microsoft (he doesn't) decided to be an ass and not tip his server, a popular girl at a Seattle eatery. However, it didn't end there. He scribbled a note on the bill that looks like this:

PS You cold [sic] stand to loose [sic] a few pounds.

This is why I work in a lovely office with a great view, away from assholes like this. I could never make it in the world of public serving where one's livelihood depended on commissions. However I do know decorum, and even when a server has been downright nasty short of socking me one in the face with the wine carafe, I've tipped. And kept any nasty comment to myself and a few friends to gloat over some beer, elsewhere. After all, there are millions of restaurants in New York City. I don't need to stir the justified ire of one waitress who then went on the Internet - namely, Facebook - posted the credit slip for all of her contacts to see, and how it's spun out of freaking control to a point that now there are claims that they've also got his picture and are aiming at posting this on all restaurant entrances, basically denying him service all over town.

So, what have we learned, kids? Is it good to be such a downright tool in a public place where you could be either photographed or leave evidence as this for your target to then turn into a whirlwind of chatter? Think again. What happens in the real world could land you as a persona non grata, everywhere. You might have to start ordering at home... and hope the delivery guy doesn't recognize your mug or your name.

Sock it to Me

Facebook: a place where you must 'like' your husband's [Facebook] status updates... or else.

Occupy Wall St. Part 3

Signs, signs, everywhere the signs...

Le Tush

...tushie...

Occupy Wall St, Part 2

And to think all I wanted was to get me a foot-long sub at the Subway restaurant at the corner of Newark Ave and Columbus.

Good Morning, Sunday!

Occupy Wall St., Part 1

Food for thought. And it's getting bigger. This was a small fringe of it, since I didn't want to be in the way this past Saturday when I ventured into NYC to enjoy a walk under the overcast day and take pictures of old Manhattan.