Solidarity forever: MY gayest face

At the very moment last night when I was typing about some of the more egregious homophobes on our nation's public platform, Jay Leno apparently was giving them more ammo on "The Tonight Show."

I haven't made a habit of watching the obsequious Leno in years, so I'll let the brilliant Jeff Whitty recap the show (complete with clip). But basically, Leno used an appearance by Ryan Phillippe to spend several minutes teasing him about playing a gay character on a soap opera 12 years ago, at one point asking to turn to a camera and make "his gayest face." Whitty called out Leno a while back about his jaw-droppingly offensive, straight-from-the-70s "Brokeback Mountain" jokes, drawing from dated gay stereotypes.

See, I don't think Leno is homophobic in the least. From all accounts of comedians who know him, he is a genuinely nice guy to all. He does a lot for charity, and unlike a lot of his fellow late-night hosts, he still does comedy shows. It's just that Leno's comedy--as well as that of the tonight show writers--hasn't exactly evolved much in the past 20 years or so.

I saw Leno live in Atlantic City a few years ago. The material, for the most part, was pretty much like a "Tonight Show" monologue: a few chuckles here and there, but mostly easy jokes about easy targets, like Michael Jackson, Robert Blake, Bill Clinton and President Bush. He even had a long bit about the problems his parents have working a VCR. Yes, this was 2004, and he was making VCR jokes, and not even jokes about how hard it was to program a VCR. Just how difficult it was for his parents to use the fast-forward and rewind functions.

So, rewind back to when those sorts of jokes were relevant--this predates even Phillippe's soap appearance, by the way--and "having to play an icky gay guy" jokes are, well, no less offensive, but a little less anachronistic. Remember, that was a time when gay representation on television was mostly the old friend with AIDS who showed up to visit the Sugarbakers or that guy planning Dorothy Zbornak's wedding.

In other words, I don't think Leno was being purposefully hateful like those folks I linked to yesterday. Just lazy and predictable. Who knows? Perhaps he thought showing that old Phillippe jeans ad was his penance to the gays. I think I'll thank him just as Whitty did -- by showing MY gayest face.



Anyone care to join me?

New standards in journalism

This handsome gentleman on the right here is the new star of WorldNetDaily. Despite the evidence to the contrary -- namely, the obvious color coordination problems between the hat and the last-pressed-in-1987 shirt--this man asserts that he is indeed gay (or, as WND would say, "gay written in quotation marks because gay still means 1890s happy to us, dernit") and once had a cocaine-fueled tryst with presumptive Democratic presidential candidate Barack Obama in a Minnesota hotel.

Despite the crackerjack reporting done by WND on this case, which apparently consisted of watching this guy's YouTube video, the mainstream media has not yet picked up on this breaking story. Not even a Drudge siren yet. But just wait. This guy's going to prove his case by using a polygraph test. Basically, we'll be holding him to the same standards as one of the fine ladies and gentlemen who would appear on MTV's "Exposed."

Using WND's same standards of journalism, however, let me attempt to play a bit of devil's advocate, here. Using my imaginary reverse aging machine to determine what the man in question, Larry Sinclair, looked like in 1999, when he was a spry lad of 37 or so, let me just say -- not a chance. Sorry. Even if Obama had been trolling around upscale Chicago lounges in his limo for crack and tricks, perhaps thinking that Y2K was just going to end it all anyway, the odds of him picking up someone that looked like Sinclair, even a de-aged-by-eight-years Sinclair, are zero. There's a reason the guys from the escort services don't look like that. Not exactly a high-demand item, let's just say. The chances, in fact, are probably about as big as the chances that Sinclair would be able to get past the velvet rope of an upscale Chicago lounge.

Now, some might say WND is just throwing whatever slime it can, hoping some of it eventual sticks to the wall, particularly since another top headline on the right is "Obama mentor identified as communist." And there's another whole story about Obama's campaign, surprisingly enough, refusing to comment on this.

But nay. Go on, WND. Pursue this story and prove us all wrong. By the way, here's a scoop: Mike Huckabee and I once shot up crystal meth in a Wheeling, W.V. Knight's Inn, followed by seven hours of reciprocal fisting and a room service order of squirrel taquitos. Truly. I look forward to seeing your interview request in my inbox tomorrow.

(Sorry for the graphic imagery, but hey -- they started it!)

Faint memories of childhood

So, the CDC is finally waking up after a few decades of slumber on "the choking game," or one of the many other aliases by which it's known. I hate to tell them, but it's been popular a lot longer than 10 years. I know this because I used to play it. And if we knew about it in Brazoria County, trust me: We weren't the first ones to get fads.

I'll never forget the first night I did it. I, a kid of I guess 12 or 13 at the time, was spending the night with two friends, and they apparently were old pros at it. I watched them do it to each other several times, but I was too terrified to do it myself. Finally, I succumbed. And wow.

They did it in the second way described in the article. We were never as hardcore as to throttle each other or wrap telephone cords around our necks, for goodness sake. We didn't even call it choking, as we didn't consider it as such. I don't know that we called it anything. Basically, the "victim" would bend over, take about five or six deep breaths and the hold the final breath, as the other person tightly gripped their stomach, like a frozen Heimlich maneuver, and lifted them off the ground. When the "victim" finally released his breath, you knew he was out.

I'll admit: It was pretty euphoric. No, there was nothing sexual about it. But the hallucinations and dreams experienced when one was out were pretty vivid, sometimes scary, not that I could describe a single one of them almost 20 years later, of course. And when we woke up, after what was probably only about 30 seconds to a minute but felt like hours, there would be a bizarre tingling sensation left in the head.

Adults knew we did this. Not my parents, of course, but some other adults heard us talking about it. Hell, I even remember one Boy Scout camping trip in which we were doing it in one of the leader's vans while two leaders were in the van with us. We kind of got an idea that there might be a bit more danger than we thought to it when one kid, at one of my slumber parties, started to have a seizure after we put him under. Finally, one teacher heard us talking about it and told us what we were really doing to our brains in depriving them of oxygen, even though we were pretty much over it by then anyway.

Point being: This is nothing new, nothing underground and nothing restricted to a fringe group of kids. The kids I refer to earlier who did it with me pretty much all were honor students by the time we got to high school.

That being said, some of the comments below the article are pretty appalling (and kudos to the author for calling them out). The attitude that it's just Darwinism, that the kids who die from doing this are just stupid and getting what they deserve is ridiculous. By that logic, a kid who doesn't know how electricity works and dies after sticking a fork in an outlet also got what he deserved.

Oh, and anyone who takes any of the above paragraphs -- particularly numbers two, five and six -- out of context for prurient purposes? God'll get ya for that, Walter.

Is this supposed to be sexy?

I've never understood how spam is profitable in this day and age. It would seem to me I'd get more money rattling a cup full of coins during my morning commute than I would by tricking those one or two people who have just discovered this magical thing called email after a 20-year slumber--you know, the one or two who still forward that thing to you that says Bill Gates will write you a check for $1,000 if you just forward their email to a few dozen people.

But I understand porn spam even less. First of all, it's not like people who want porn are sitting around and waiting for an email telling them where to find it. What's more, the subject titles are never enticing at all.

Take the last few days' sampling. Sexyandtallns wants me to "see [presumably her] wide gaping holes." Charming. Grocer promises me "real university students forced to stripp (sic) of their clothes -- 2 pics!" Wow! Two whole pictures? Of a college student undressing, probably the hardest thing to ever see? Sold. Betty Klay offers a "round butt for u to play with." How about a round of mini golf? And Cassie Carrter, whom I seem to get something from every damn day, wants to show me "MidWestern Chicks Flashing Their Tits For Free." Darn it Cassie, if they were from the Pacific Northwest, I might have considered it, but the Iowa chicks just don't do it for me.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some horny women to whom sweetsarah0 says are incredibly eager to beat me. Geez, don't these people have any demographic research at all?

Self-abuse made easy

I have, on several occasions, written about the off-the-wall columnists on display at WorldNetDaily. Honestly, I could do an entire blog on nothing but that if I had a stronger stomach. Here's a nice little sampling of the wisdom set forth in the past several days:

• RingmasterJoseph Farah asserts that one of the presidential candidates is mentally ill, namely suffering from narcissistic personality disorder. It's an exclusive! (for anyone who hasn't already read the Mayo Clinic page on the disorder). Now, he doesn't want to say which one she is...I mean he or she is. Her...I mean, his or her rhymes with Billary Hinton, but he's not going to be so classless as to name who he's talking about. Farah then proves his point by listing the symptoms of the disorder, which applies to pretty much anyone who has ever sought public office higher than state railroad commissioner. Oh, and he ends the column with a record 16 questions in a row. That's called nagging personality disorder.
• Political science mastermind Chuck Norris implores everyone to vote for Mike Huckabee because preventing gay marriage is one of the most important issues facing our country. I assume that because it's mentioned four times in the column. It turns out he's trying to push the gay rights movement back to the 70s because that was the last time his moustache was in style. Chuck Norris doesn't write bland columns. He opens the dictionary and the words assemble into them out of fear.
• The beyond adjectives Ann Coulter mourns her father as anyone would: by bashing liberals. Because, you know, politicizing a death is tacky only if the guy's last name was Wellstone.
• The homo-obsessed dotard Les Kinsolving regurgitates a Wikipedia entry on the Episcopal Church in Colonial times to complain about sodomy.

And so on. And this is the top tier. Some other guy challenged Huckabee to a fist fight, but I can't even remember his name now. It's pretty scary when the most coherent columnist on a site is Pat Buchanan.

A case for vandalism

Today was one of those mornings when the alarm clock seemed to be speaking a different language. You see, I had a nice two- or three-hour break in sleep thanks to an extremely courteous neighbor letting his car alarm go off all night.

First of all: Did you know that if you call the non-emergency hotline to report an annoying car alarm, they'll automatically transfer you to 911? Not that it makes the police come any faster, but it's an interesting point. It probably has something to do with reports of a terrorist plot involving car alarms.

I had no earplugs, just my noise-canceling headphones, which I can't sleep in because of my inability to sleep on my back or my stomach for any extended period of time. If the police ever came, I had finally dozed off to dreams of revenge. After a few hours, I actually get used to the noise.

But at least I'm not suffering alone. I had no idea how much bandwidth has been dedicated to these nuisances.
Like here.
Or here.
Or here.
And here.
And the best one.

My favorite part of those is the stories of people retaliating against the offending car. The thought crossed my mind last night. In fact, I even stood at the window for a moment with an old jar of satay sauce from the refrigerator, contemplating hurling it down six stories through the windshield. I thought better of it, mostly because I didn't trust my aim at 4 a.m., but also because I didn't particularly want something with my fingerprints on it in the car should my aim have actually worked and should the police have ever arrived.

I'll be ready next time, though. I'm still trying to decide which would be best. Dumping a jar of molasses on the hood and windshield? A dozen or so eggs? Or just an old-fashioned keying? Ooh, I smell a future blog poll question!

Les Kinsolving: The muttering dotard of the White House Press Corps

As fascinating as the World Net Daily rogues gallery of writers is -- Grandpappy Joseph "Uses More Questions Marks Than Periods" Farah, Star "Quarantine All Sodomites" Parker, Ted "'Bee Movie' Promotes Satanism" Baehr, Hal "I Know I Said It Thirty Years Ago, But We're In The Last Days, Really" Lindsey, Pat "Nothing In Quotation Marks Could Come Close To The Real Horror" Buchanan -- nothing compares with the piece of work known as Les Kinsolving.

The name probably doesn't ring a bell, but anyone who's ever watched a White House press briefing in the last several decades has seen him. Or any regular watcher of "The Daily Show," for that matter. He's the old goat who always rattles off some tinfoil hat question that whomever is handling the conference quickly bats away.

For anyone who's ever attended a City Council meeting, think of him as the zany lady who always sits in the front row, reeking of McCormick Gin and cat litter, and has a 15-minute diatribe prepared on the city's coyote problem or some other matter that's conflated to a crisis in her head only. The one to whom the mayor always nods politely to after the speech but would run like hell if he ever saw her on the street.

At any rate, World Net Daily is up in arms because White House spokeswoman Dana Perino brushed off the "questions" about AIDS that Kinsolving had prepared in honor of World AIDS Day. Here's the exchange:

KINSOLVING: "Two domestic questions. The Media Research Center – with the Centers for Disease Control's statistics that HIV/AIDS in the U.S. is still a great deal higher among men who have sex with men �"

PERINO:: "Let's move on to the next question. I'm not even going to dignify�"

KINSOLVING: "No�"

PERINO: "I'm not, Les, unless you want to just move on altogether. What's your next question?"

KINSOLVING: "All right. In major cities like Washington, Chicago and San Francisco, there are reports that gay bathhouses facilitate�"

PERINO: "Okay, Keith, go ahead. Les, it's inappropriate�"

KINSOLVING: "Inappropriate?"

KINSOLVING: "AIDS isn't that�"

PERINO: "Just stop it, stop it."

This is actually interesting for what it says about both the actors involved. Kinsolving absolutely hates homos to the point that he'd like to see them in ovens. Meanwhile, Perino is stuck with that White House policy to talk about AIDS without ever, ever mentioning the gays. And World Net Daily spins the whole thing to say that the White House has banned questions about AIDS altogether. No, they just don't want to listen to a senile nut rattle off Brent Bozell's doctored statistics about it. And they don't mention the gays EVER, except in cloaked language about marriage amendments.

Synchronize your bigotry, guys. It's embarrassing when you show up to a party in clashing outfits.

What wine should I serve with roach crap?

Here's a tasty bit of irony. Last week, Upper East Side tourist magnet Serendipity 3 unveiled its latest in opulance: a $25,000 chocolate sundae, using numerous exotic chocolates, served in a gold goblet wrapped in a diamond bracelet with edible gold -- does that even digest, or is it like the morning after drinking Goldschlager? -- and accompanied by an exotic truffle. The owner bragged to the media how he knew that wealthy Saudi princes would be flooding the dessert eatery picking up a couple to impress their wives.

This week? The place is shut down by the health inspector. Sewage problems, live mice, tons of cockroaches -- you name it, they found it. Nummers.

Honestly, even if I were a Saudi prince, I can't imagine myself eating these overpriced publicity gimmicks. Remember the famed $1,000 pizza from earlier this year? The one with six kinds of caviar, fresh lobster, chives and creme fraiche on it? Way, way too busy. Your tongue wouldn't even be able to distinguish the different caviars. The common cook's rule of limiting your pizzas to about three ingredients is there for a reason.

A special note to my new friend

Yes, you, dear. The lovable old scamp-of-a-thousand-facelifts outside of the Jacobs Theatre tonight. You know, the one who thought it would be proper to, as I stood in line to pick up my ticket from the box office, whack me with your cane so you could better read the posted review on the wall. The one who apparently thought that was the appropriate gesture rather than a simple "excuse me." The one who also apparently thought the absolute best time to read up on a show was within 30 minutes of an actual performance, a time when dozens of other people are gathered around the theatre, particularly those trying to get in the aforementioned line that happens to go right through your choice reading spot. The one who proved that, without a doubt, the sense of entitlement is the absolutely last thing to go, long after looks, health, grace and tact.

Yes, dear. I have a message for you. What was it? Ah, yes! Go to hell.

That is all.

Oh, and happy Halloween everyone! Hope your costumes were great. I apparently dressed up as an American vandal in Singapore.

Presence makes the heart grow harder

Prior to living in New York, I was, for the most part, ambivalent to Rudy Giuliani. With the exception of his appearance in that one Rage Against The Machine music video, he seemed like an affable enough guy. Being a Texan, I thought any Republican who didn't hate the homos was kind of a cool novelty.

Then, I moved here and noticed the deep-seated contempt so many long-time New Yorkers had for the man. That made me take notice. After all, I disliked George W. Bush long before he had the chance to show his true colors in the White House.

Now that ambivalence is gone. He's crossed the line into the unforgivable. Most egregious was his decision to kiss the butt of Family Research Council executive director Tony Perkins -- who, by the way, has some ties to white supremacist groups in the not-so-distant past -- by coming up with some bizarre circumstance under which he'd support a federal marriage amendment. The other was his equally bizarre decision to root for the Red Sox. He explained that one away by saying he'd always support the American League team in the World Series, unless, perhaps, the Mets were involved. You hear that Houston, St. Louis, Atlanta, Philadelphia, Cincinnati, Milwaukee, Pittsburgh, Washington, Los Angeles, San Diego, San Francisco, Phoenix, Denver, Miami and the sad half of Chicago? He automatically hates your teams.

Seriously, though, do you know how much of a spit-in-the-face it is to Yankee fans for him to come out for the Red Sox? Giuliani had better hope his next appearance at a Yankees game isn't on Bat Day. And I wonder what that gay couple -- you know, that one who took him in after one of his many marriages failed -- thinks of his sudden support, albeit tepid support, for a marriage amendment? Politicians pander. I know. But these turncoat moments are so egregious that I'll bet even Mitt Romney's embarrassed for him.

Time to move?

First, my landlord goes bankrupt. Now it seems the people who have taken temporary control of the building aren't much better.

I had what my mother would call a panic moment today, when I had a lovely letter waiting for me from conEdison. It seems the temporary owners have not paid an almost $900 security deposit on the bill. Brava! What frightened me was the warning the they would be cutting off power in November should this not be rectified. I was actually on the line waiting for a conEdison customer service rep, ready to demand to know how they could cut off my power when I've been paying my bills on time, when I read the letter closer. They were just talking about power in the common areas of the building. So, our security system might not be working anymore, and I might be climbing six flights of the stairs in the dark, but at least I'll have power when I get home.

This, however, does not bode well. Combined with the impossibility of getting anyone to come out for repairs, I'm thinking the end of my lease might be time to cut and run. Anybody got any good apartment leads?

Impotent insults

Dealing with idiocy turns me into a nit-picky bitch. Just for fun, let's take a look at a voice from my hometown:

There are reasons people support Republicans

Glenn Kamprota writes of the GOP, “With its mismanagement of Iraq, Katrina relief, the budget and Social Security ‘reform,’ as well as its demonizing of gays and immigrants and hypocritical hysteria over family values, the GOP might very well have deserved what it’s getting.”

Demonizing gays? You mean the same gay agenda (read hysteria) that is trying to ram their lifestyle down everyone’s throat no matter our beliefs. Or the (illegal) immigrants who take the jobs (many which Americans would take), don’t pay taxes, send billions to Mexico and clog up the health system. I used to be a Democrat before they turned to the far left. I never loved the big busines GOP, but at least most of them are against abortion, gay militants and trying to keep some family values.

The GOP will get my vote unless a good third party should arise.

Paul Pousson, Angleton

You know, I could mention that in three mere paragraphs, Mr. Pousson -- who it seems used to love Democrats until they started to get to chummy with the fags, Mex'cans (and not said here, but presumably, the uppity blacks) -- managed to misspell both the name of Glenn Krampota (great guy, by the way) and the easily-fixed-by-spellcheck word "business." Or that Mr. Pousson -- a red-blooded, non-immigrant name if I ever heard one -- uses "gay agenda," a singular noun that doesn't fit with the later plural possessive pronoun "their." Or the absolute idiocy of basing a vote on the things that the GOP, when you look at it, haven't really done a great job of making progress on, anyway.

But I won't mention those things. What I will mention is the unintentional hilarity of the last sentence in the middle paragraph. There are two ways to interpret it as written. Either the Republicans are all gay militants who are trying to preserve family values while fighting abortion, or the Republicans are against three things: abortion, gays and the preservation of family values. Keep your compound constructions parallel, kiddies. Grammar lesson for the day.

Perhaps I'm being too mean here. After all, Mr. Pousson isn't a professional writer. So let's look at someone who is. Ann Coulter -- whom we recently learned is a perfected Jew, or Jewess, as she would probably say -- doesn't care much for Fred Thompson and Mike Huckabee. In fact, Huckabee and Thompson both had the audacity not to hate Bill Clinton so much they smell the stench of his cologne while they sleep at night. Says she:

Huckabee teamed up with that guy to talk to children about healthy eating habits. Ironically, the obesity campaign kicked off almost exactly nine years from the very Palm Sunday on which President Clinton used a cigar as a sexual aid on Monica Lewinsky in the Oval Office.

Ann, how, pray tell, is that ironic? A coincidence, perhaps, but where is the irony? Did C. Everett Koop recently publish a paper indicating that cunnicigarus causes weight gain? 'Cause otherwise, I'm not getting it. I know the word has been diluted of all meaning by pre-teens blogging on MySpace -- "I went to see 'Bratz,' and my BFF Lindsey was there that day, too! Isn't that ironic?????" -- but William Safire would totally kick your ass if he ever stooped to reading WorldNetDaily or the handful of podunk papers that still carry your column. Healthy eating habits, by the way, means actually eating something every once in a while. Try it sometime!

OK, now I have to go scour this post for errors. That's the one danger in writing something criticizing others' grammar and language. If you made a mistake while doing so, that would be, like, ironic.

Oh, and one more song down on the theme song situation. No Liszt's "Liebestraume." Darn it.

ENDA scare tactics

Here's yet another ignoramus discovered in the sewer of World Net Daily: the neck-less Mychal Massie, perhaps the recipient of Jerry Falwell's donated jowls upon his death.

Today, he's terrified of the potential ramifications of passing the Employee Non-Discrimination Act:

In layman's terms, said lawyer-speak means, if ENDA becomes law (and I am in no way attempting to inject humor here), (Mike's note: Good, because if you were, you failed miserably) the branch manager of your local bank could, without fear of penalty, come to work looking like "Boy George in Liza Minnelli 1980s drag makeup, complete in his working girl commuter-friendly disco sneakers." And there wouldn't be a thing the bank could do or say about it – no matter how offended its customers might be or how uncomfortable it would make the other employees.

Passage of ENDA means that the surgeon scheduled to perform your operation could decide to do same in his blond wig with full mascara and his Playtex plus-size bra, and there wouldn't be a thing the hospital could say or do.

It means that your child's second-grade teacher could decide she was going to dress like a man, complete with makeup to simulate facial hair, and the school would have no recourse. And it goes without saying that the owner of a local Bible bookstore would be powerless to prevent a homosexual employee from holding hands with his or her homosexual lover within the workplace. Any attempt to prevent said behavior would result in immediate litigation.

Now that he's sufficiently frightened Bertha Sue from Peoria into think that Varla Jean Merman is going to dropkick Mr. McFeely out of the way and start showing up every day with her special deliveries, allow me to inject a little rationality here. ENDA means NONE of those things.

You see, Mr. Massey, corporate America, school districts and hospitals have these crazy things called dress codes. Just like the bank branch manager isn't showing up to work now in orange crocs, tattered sweatpants and a "No Fat Chicks" T-shirt and the surgeon isn't performing vasectomies in a top hat and tails. People are expected to dress a certain way for certain jobs, and ENDA wouldn't change that.

Massey is purposely melding campy drag acts with transgendered people when, in reality, or at least in my experience, those are two circles of a Venn diagram that have very little overlap. Most transgendered people I have known have dressed rather conservatively, in fact.

Nor would ENDA give Steve and Andrew the right to start groping in front of a shelf full of Joel Osteen's latest self-help advice book to the horror of Christian bookstore patrons. Workplaces are allowed to have rules against public displays of affection, and ENDA wouldn't change that.

I can't decide whether Massie is just a moron, or he assumes anyone who reads his column is a moron. Or both. Whatever. I'm done now, anyway. I'm at work, and it's really hard to type with these Lee's Press-On Nails on my fingers.

To the moon, Juanita

The obscure World Net Daily columnists have done the unthinkable. They've made me defend a TBN personality.

In his latest bleatings, homobigot pastor Jesse Lee Peterson comes down hard on the self-proclaimed "prophetess" Juanita Bynum. In a story that slipped under my radar, Bynum apparently was badly beaten by her fellow minister husband, Rev. Thomas W. Weeks III, in an Atlanta hotel parking lot.

In his misogynistic dissection of the story, Peterson gives one sentence to condemn Weeks. The rest of it is devoted to attacking Bynum for daring to use this incident to raise public awareness of domestic violence. Says he:

And if Juanita were truly a woman of God, she would not use her marital problems for personal gain – or use the media to destroy her husband.

At her press conference, Bynum stated, "My focus is not the marriage. My focus is to accomplish a new purpose [domestic violence cause] that God has given me."

Bynum then attended a fundraising event for Barack Obama where she planned to discuss her domestic abuse concerns with the candidate. Oprah Winfrey hosted the event at her estate in California.

And why would a woman of God go to the government, especially to a liberal Democrat like Obama, to address a spiritual sickness?

I'm sure it won't be long before we see Bynum on "Oprah" dressed in pink and with just the right lighting to make her appear soft, vulnerable and innocent.

I suppose Peterson thinks it would have been marginally better if she had gone to, say, Fred Thompson or Rudy Giuliani, because there's two guys who know how to treat a woman right. But, I digress. Peterson then goes on to belittle the problem of domestic violence, which he ultimately concludes is just because dames are getting too damn pushy. You know, not being submissive and all.

Now, in my limited exposure to her, I am NO fan of Bynum. Her wedding was typical TBN excess--a network that's purpose seems largely to snatch grocery money from gullible poor folk--and her shrieking sermons usually had their own elements of homophobia in them. But trying to call attention to domestic violence is one thing for which she should be applauded, and if her husband followed the woman-shut-your-mouth attitude of Peterson, it's not really that surprising he thought so little of her as to beat the crap out of her.

Next up: I explain how Benny Hinn really did get those people out of the wheelchairs!

Pain is Hate

Not reaching people with those Pat Boone records? Worried that nobody knows who the hell Dean Jones is anymore? Thinking Anita Bryant is never going to get out of Branson? Don't fret, Concerned Women for America. You've found your new musical spokesperson: Jeffrey Atkins, er, Ja Rule. Said he to Complex:

We need to go step to MTV and Viacom, and lets talk about all these fucking shows that they have on MTV that is promoting homosexuality, that my kids can’t watch this shit. Dating shows that’s showing two guys or two girls in mid-afternoon. Let’s talk about shit like that! If that’s not fucking up America, I don’t know what is.”

Yeah, Ja. Those dating shows are pretty insipid. But, as far as I know, those contestants haven't been arrested for beating up a DJ in Nigeria, played a part in shooting a rival rapper, gotten arrested for gun possession nor called their fellow collaborators a bitch. Well, maybe they did do that last part. But, whatever. Go on back to spreading the Gospel of Jesus, peppered with the word fuck every few minutes, and working for Murder, Inc., and your liquor and online gambling enterprises. You're a moral beacon to us all!

Up to this point, Ja Rule was best known for feuding with a bunch of people, grumbling a few things under Jennifer Lopez's vocals and putting out a bunch of songs no one has thought about in several years. He's also rumored to be starring in the family-friendly flick "Saw IV."

Enjoy your new friend, Sandy Rios! Perhaps he can rechristen the group Concerned Women For Not Fucking Up America.

In other news, the homophobic 50 Cent--the aforementioned rival rapper, in fact--was outsold by Kanye West, who has made it a point to speak out against homophobia in hip-hop. Let's hope fiddy keeps good on his promise to retire.

Proud to be a luddite

I can only laugh at the doofuses who are griping now because -- shock! -- the iPhone just dropped in price. The horror! Who would have thought that the insane $500-plus initial price would quickly drop once the gotta-be-first twerps had finished their storefront camp-outs?

I am the quintessential late adopter. You know how much I paid for my DVD player? Nothing. I got it for free from a friend who had bought a new one. You know how much I paid for the decidedly non-flat television in my bedroom? Forty dollars. I got it off craigslist from some dude in the Upper West Side. I even tricked my former roommate into carrying it up the six flights of stairs to my apartment. My iPod mini still works just fine, and I'm not getting rid of it until somebody either gives me a better one or until it drops dead.

But, see, now I'm in a bit of a quandary. Alas, last weekend, my very ancient VCR finally broke. So, what do I do? Finally call Time Warner and agree to get their DVR service? Or shell out the $100 for a VCR/DVD combo? I do still have a lot of old tapes of stuff I've recorded over the years, but honestly, they take up a lot more space than their value in the number of times I actually watch them. Then again, some people pay ridiculous amounts for old recorded shows, particularly if they still have the commercials.

Either way, I'd better figure it out quickly. I have no idea what's happening on "Days Of Our Lives" right now!

Just...wow.

Here's some more fun with letters to the editor. Now, usually, the person who stoops to calling their opponent a Nazi is the one losing the argument. But how else do you respond to this (emphasis mine)?

Illegal immigrants should be treated like criminals

Response to Sen. Arlen Specter’s article in the Aug. 8 edition of The Facts:I believe the only new laws needed are those which would punish both employers and landlords who deal with the invaders — spin-doctored to “illegal immigrants” — who are criminals and should be treated as such.

Probably the best deterrent to these criminals would be to have the military pick them up and place them in concentration camps for a sentence of at least a year. There is a sheriff in New Mexico who houses the county prisoners in tents and feeds them on $1.30 a day. If there was a good chance that these invaders would not be able to send money home, they would stay home.

Those who provide lodging and jobs for these criminals should be sent to prison for at least a year and fined to the extent that the business would fold. If there is a need for the product or service they provided, someone would step up and start a new business to fill it.Those prosecuted also should include executive officers, such as the president and CEO.As to the wives and children of these invaders, send them home to Mexico or wherever their spouse comes from as I do not feel that the taxpayer should provide for the families of criminals.

Jerry McKeand, Sweeny

Calling for concentration camps. This is post-Guantanamo America, folks.

Where's Amy Fisher when you need her?

I couldn't help but start eavesdropping when I heard the words "fag" and "homo" being casually tossed around as mock insults. As it turned out, that would be some of the least offensive conversation I'd be hearing.

Poor planning left me next to rather repulsive, raucous group of teenagers on the Long Island Railroad on Sunday. The epithets earned a few glares from me, but they didn't notice. Believe me, these four didn't notice anything outside of their immediate little bubble. Not there, not anywhere else.

The conversation quickly indicated these four kids were of the privileged class: talk of yachts, talk of an errant cook, talk of houses in Rome. For the 90 endless minutes on the train, they yammered about the money they had, and even worse, the money they knew they were going to earn once they entered business school.

One was eagerly awaiting Fidel Castro's death so he could gobble up land in Cuba and build a slew of hotels. Another was insistent that he would NEVER work in a job that required him to be in a cubicle. No, he would only have an office, moving directly from school to upper management. No sitting through meetings. He'd be the one running the meetings. The chubby girl in the group continued to spit out the fag and homo accusations. They were going to meet some group of people who had apparently berated Mr. Castro Death Watch to no end the last time they were together, calling him a faggot because of the plaid shirt he wore. Classy. Fortunately, that gathering was nowhere near Penn Station when the train ride mercifully ended.

It was those insufferable MTV Sweet 16 breeds in the flesh. Their concept of business sounded about as mature as a five-year-old dreaming of being an astronaut or a star shortshop when he grows up.

Remember in the film "Run Lola Run," when she'd pass a bystander on the street, and immediately split-second flashes of the rest of that person's life would pop on the screen? I've never wanted that superpower more than that moment. I wanted to watch these kids graduate from business school -- if they ever did -- and see the harsh reality of the corporate world slap them across the face. After all, they couldn't be THAT wealthy if they were riding a passenger train with the rest of us rabble.

As it turned out, I had to write my own ending. Mr. Castro and Ms. Homo-Hater were already a bit chubby, so no doubt their weight problems would be exacerbated as they entered their 20s. Ms. Homo-Hater ended up in Staten Island with a minimum wage husband and six children. Donald Trump beat Mr. Castro to the punch on his Cuba development deal, so he was left developing a block in Wildwood, New Jersey where 10th place finishers from American Idol and a Loverboy cover band are regular performers.

The Girl with the Errant Cook dropped out of college following an unwanted pregnancy stemming from an unfortunate frat house incident. She works the counter at a Duane Reade in East New York after her family cast her out. The fey Mr. No Cubicle, meanwhile, got his dream job and dream wedding. Unfortunately, he now pays a hefty portion of his salary to said wife, who caught him in bed with one of his "poker buddies" and is now blackmailing him.

This never used to happen on New Jersey Transit.

Oh what a wiki web we weave

I know, I know, you should never trust Wikipedia, but I'm darn addicted to it. Especially when you find an obvious hack -- and I mean one not pushed by Stephen Colbert.

Just a few days ago, for some reason, I found myself reading the entry for "bacon." Somewhere near the top, it mentioned the following factoid: "The origins of bacon are not known, but it is commonly accepted that it was invented by the Ultimate Warrior in 1956." I'd link to it, but it's already been taken off the site.

But anyway, as a one-time wrestling fan, that got me wondering what the heck ever happened to the Ultimate Warrior. I remember hearing the rumor that he died, but not so, according to Wikipedia. It turns out he legally changed his name to "Warrior" in the early 1990s and was last seen ranting about "queering" at the University of Connecticut. And my sister used to think he was cute. Oh, and he also has two books coming out this year. I can't wait! The first chapter: "Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" Beat only by Hacksaw Jim Duggan's latest expose on Deborah Jean Palfrey, "Hoooooooooooo!"

Hmm. Whatever happened to Hacksaw Jim Duggan? Back to Wikipedia. This might be a long night.

Grease that wheel, already

I've threaded two common themes across several posts in this blog, both of which lament something missing in political discourse today: crackerjack columnists and the ability of nuance. Well, I've found the perfect exemplar of both of those themes in columnist Burt Prelutsky. This man seems to have the easiest job in the world, as his columns are nothing more than the same Mad Lib (forgive the pun) every week with a few different adjectives thrown in. No common theme, no particular reason of timeliness -- just the same hackneyed arguments week after week after week. Just read this week's column.

I'm not even going to quote from it, because it's so asinine. It's nothing more than a bunch of broad generalizations with all the hot-button names (Nancy Pelosi, Robert Byrd, Ted Kennedy) thrown in for pointless garnish. Nothing specific to today is mentioned.

Now go to his archives and read last week's column. And the week before that. And so on. It's all the same thing! And when they are on a timely issue, they provide no more insight to it than reading a few posts at FreeRepublic. It's not even his positions I find as repulsive as the intellectual sloppiness and laziness it must take to so consistently produce something of poor quality. There are numerous conservative writers -- Peggy Noonan, Andrew Sullivan, mambopalace or some of the guys over at the Lone Star Times, for example -- whom I don't often agree with but respect the thought and/or humor they inject into their positions.

And yes, there are plenty of liberal versions of Prelutsky out there, too. I can't even get through a sentence of theirs. To see what you actually believe in turned into a cartoon would make me reconsider my positions more than Noonan's most florid prose.