This Is Worse Than That Time That They Cut Off The End Of "24" Because Of Football

We're so sorry we haven't been posting. It's been quite an eventful week for us. Today we came down from a four day nerve/adrenaline rush and fell asleep on our keyboard.

We think you all should be aware of a potential disaster that has occured for the gay community. No, we're not talking about the fact that people now identify us with Clay Aiken. It's worse:

The Dylan has broken his cell phone.

Take a deep breath. Sit down. Have some Poland Spring mineral water and an Emergen-C.

If you have to ask who "Dylan" is, or what is "last name" might be, you're clearly the kind of person who is allowed to donate blood in the US. And you shouldn't be reading this blog. Dylan's phone had a whopping 1800 numbers in it. We didn't even know that was possible. 1700 of them belong to cute boys. It was a nexus of gay - sort of like the Barney's Warehouse sale, but digital.

GET A HOLD OF YOURSELF PEOPLE! NO NEED TO PANIC! We all just need to calm the FUCK down around here.

Now, there is a chance the numbers from his phone can be retrieved. There is a chance that the party will go on. There's a chance, that through the work of a grumpy Arab phone technician who is working frantically this very minute, that this center of the gay universe can be brought back to life.

All we can do is hold our breath, and pray to Allah. It should be easy - you're all on your knees at least five times a day anway.

We’re Afraid We’re Going To Have To Ride This One Out, Boys.

Someone told us that we hadn’t posted enough about “Brokeback Mountain” today.

We’ve been trying to avoid this, so as to not contribute to the clusterfuck that has been gay coverage of the movie. But under pressure, here is what we think:

“Brokeback Mountain” is a necessary evil. For years, perhaps decades, we will have to deal with “BM” jokes – much like blacks had to hear about “The Jeffersons” and “What’s Happening!!” for much longer than they would have liked. What’s so noteworthy about the movie is that it’s just a regular, good movie – with gay protagonists. Like the “Jeffersons” was a regular, family sitcom, that happened to star a black family. It was long overdue, but it finally got mass coverage, and brought us a leap forward in understanding, even if it was not the way we’d prefer to progress.

We loved the movie. It was important, seminal, and painful. It wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t uplifting, but we realize it was important step to take. It made us cry, and feel sick to our stomach for days.

In other words, we feel about "Brokeback Mountain" the same way that we felt about the first time we got fucked up the ass.



We shall not speak of this again.

There Is Really Nothing To Write About Today. Where Is Fred Phelps When You Need Him?

Students in Britain are finally doing something about an issue that’s made us mad for quite some time. They’re finally fed up with hearing about blood donor shortages, while gay men remain blocked from giving blood.

It used to be that we would lie on the form and donate anyway, if we had been recently tested for stds. But then we got on some phone call list where a woman harassed us daily about donating blood (at the Port Authority, of all places!). Finally, after getting tired of making up excused why we couldn’t schlep up to the grundle of Manhattan during the work day for 45 minutes, we snapped:

“I’m gay! Now will you leave me the fuck alone?”

Then we hung up the phone.

It really felt like that time when the enthusiastic theater girl in high school never got the hint.

Thank God for those girls, really. Back then, they did such a good job of urging us out of the closet.

Now, they do such a good job of making our Pumpkin Spice Lattes.

It's Too Bad He Isn't Gay, Because We Bet He Has A Really Smooth Asshole

“Desperate Housewives” cutie Jesse Metcalfe has been covered so aggressively by Perez Hilton that we feel we must comment on this. Metcalfe seems obsessed with getting the word out that he is. not. gay.

A Perez spy who saw Metcalfe at LAX nightclub reported: “He was chatting with people here and there but seemed to be standing alone looking awkward, throughout the night so we started to chat with him. Out of the blue, he told me and several friends of mine "could you please tell your people I'm not one of them, I'm not gay". We all looked at each other like, where the hell did that come from?"

OK, Jesse. Let’s go over what this tactic achieves:

1) It makes people wonder if you are gay, when before they were just wondering who does your eyebrows.
2) It ensures that people will think you ARE gay and trying to overcompensate.
3) It makes gay people, who make up a big part of your fan base, think you are a jerk.
4) It alerts women that you are insecure, and which makes you less sexy. And gay.

See, Jesse faces the classic g-list conundrum – is it better that people talk about you being a homophobe? Or that they don’t talk about you at all?

But seriously. Who does do his eyebrows? Because for phony craftsmanship as obvious as that, she should have her Korean citizenship revoked.

We're Sorry We Were Gone For The Weekend, But Thanks For All The Dirty Text Messages

We know, being gay, that cruel humor at other people's expense is a little bit unoriginal. Cliched, if you will. A cop out - like getting your trick to jerk himself off so you can finally get some fucking sleep. Easy - like you, after we feed you two vodka sodas and tell you that your eyes are pretty.

But we just had to say something about this. Boy George, the only 80's pop star currently living in drag and in exile (oh, wait), is opining on the subject of gay marriage:

"Gay unions, what is that all about? I haven't been invited to any ceremonies and I wouldn't go anyway. The idea that gay people have to mimic what obviously doesn't work for straight people anymore, I think is a bit tragic.

"I'm looking forward to gay divorces."

You know what, George? We're done, thanks. If anyone ever overextended their welcome, it's you. In exchange for ONE listenable ironic novelty song, we have had to put up with your unending presence at our Thursday night parties, your appalling Broadway show, your nauseating fashion lines, and the constant reminder that gay stars don't burn out, they just turn fat and deplorable.

We're no experts, but when your greatest achievement in life is to be the only aging gay British singer MORE detestable than Elton John and George Michael, it might be time to just cut your losses and give up.

Perhaps by hoovering up, all at once, the ten kilos of cocaine you have hidden under your bed.

With your massive, vacuum-like asshole.

And Yet They Won’t Let You On An Airplane With A Pair Of Tweezers.

So we had a long talk with porn star/director Michael Lucas yesterday about his new star, Clay Aiken-outer John Paulus. We also talked to Paulus. The whole story has begun to make us sad, so we won’t dwell on it.

But within an hour of when we talked, a messenger arrived at our office with a basket full of five of Lucas’s porn DVDs, three giant bottles of lube, some naked trading cards and some bath salts. After being ridiculed by my co-workers, bosses, and boss’s bosses, we stuffed the porn, lube, and salts in our bag.

As we headed out of the office, we were handed a few pairs of women’s panties, because we were going to a Tom Jones concert, and when in Rome, one throws panties at Tom Jones.

So after chugging a bottle of Bacardi Razz in the cab with a co-worker, we skipped to the gate of the concert where, yes, you guessed it, our bag was searched by an enormous stern black man. Out came porn, lube, and women’s panties. We were horrified.

Brother didn’t even bat an eye.

This is why we love New York.

Johnny Weir, Are You Queer?

For those of you who were desperately seeking a retropop/spoken word mashup deliberating on the sexuality of an androgynously fashion forward ice dancer, your prayers have been answered.



It’s amazing what a community can achieve when they don’t have to waste their energy on child-rearing, or paying attention to women.

Pollin' Altar Boys In The End-o, Sippin' On Gin And Juice

This makes us uncomfortable. New Hampshire’s gay Episcopal Bishop, Gene Robinson, has checked himself into rehab for alcohol dependency.

Now, we’re the first ones to say that being gay and being a drunk go hand in hand. Check out Wonkette lately, for example. But for a person like Robinson, there’s just so much more pressure on him to be a good example. After all, his appointment caused a rift in the international factions of one of the world’s largest religious organizations. Even party boy George W. Bush kicked the habit when he realized that he was going to be a prominent public figure. Every time Robinson comes out with a sentence like this:

“In his letter, Robinson, 58, said he has been dealing with alcoholism for years and had considered it ‘as a failure of will or discipline on my part, rather than a disease over which my particular body simply has no control, except to stop drinking altogether.’”

…it makes us involuntarily shudder. It’s not going to be very difficult for critics of Robinson to pick up on his “failure of will or discipline” and lump homosexuality as just another one of his weaknesses, to be fixed.

Then again, for how many gay people was alcohol the raison d’etre for their first foray into gayland? How many of us would have really made that first leap without a few cocktails to guide our nervous pubescent hands steadily into an Jack Twist-style reach around? In a way, in fact, we owe alcohol a lot. Robinson was just paying the piper.

We think this is the spin that the Episcopalian publicists should aim for. Or this: “Hey – at least Robinson was getting drunk and sleeping with someone his own age…”

People Say We Have A Problem With Alcohol, But We Can't Remember The Last Time We Drank!

We have nothing to say in honor of Valentine's Day. We are going out to get drunk with one of our best gals. But this joke, which we learned from George Clooney, pretty much sums up the way we feel about the holiday, and love in general. Minus the wife part:

(As told to Quint from Ain't It Cool News):

GEORGE CLOONEY: "A guy is in a bar. He's so drunk he throws up all over himself. He tells the bartender, "What am I doing? When I go home my wife's going to kill me..." The bartender puts twenty dollars in his shirt pocket and says, "Go home..." Have you heard this one?
QUINT: No, I haven't heard it.
GEORGE CLOONEY: He says, "Go home and tell your wife you were in a bar and a guy came up... he was drunk, threw up all over you, but put $20 in your shirt pocket." He goes home, walks in and his wife says, "Hap, look at you. You threw up all over yourself!"
He goes, "Honey, a guy got drunk and threw up on me and he put $20 in my shirt pocket." She reaches in and pulls out $40 and says, "What's the other $20 for?" He says, "He shat in my pants, too!"

Onward to Easter!

If You Wishful Think Hard Enough, It Just Might Come True.

Our friend Perez today illuminated some courtside subtext between Jake Gyllenhaal and his "Day After Tomorrow" co-star, Austin Nichols. We didn't realize they were friends, but we do remember meeting Nichols at the premiere of his most recent flick, "Glory Road." We stopped to talk to him because he was so tall and handsome, and for no other reason. He admitted to us that he was the only person in the movie who wasn't good at basketball.

"I lied and told them I was a basketball player," he giggled, as we swooned. "I am a terrible basketball player."

We then told him that if they ever made a movie about Tom Brady, he should play him in the lead role. This comment thereby exhausted all of our sports knowledge.

We eavesdropped as he chatted with someone else nearby, who asked him what his favorite recent movie was.

"Brokeback Mountain," he grinned. We gripped a nearby publicist for support. "I can’t think of any other love story that got me so..." and then he trailed off.

We'll end here because we don't want to jump to any conclusions. And also, because we don't want to have to clean out the inside of our jeans twice today.

Does Valentine's Day Make Bloggers Less Funny?

We are a little bit jaded about love, if you haven't noticed. Like most people, we've been bent, broken, and (very recently) physically scarred by it.

So it takes a lot to make us choke up. But today's FHC post did the trick. Congrats on your anniversary Tristan and LL.



Aw, who are we kidding? We cry at De Beers commercials. This weekend we watched "The Princess Diaries 2: A Royal Engagement" and were unable to move for hours...

R.I.P. Boy's Room. Go Go, We Hardly Knew Ye.

So we’ve been following the coverage of the whole John Paulus/Clay Aiken scandal that has been played out slowly in the press, and on Howard Stern. Basically, the gist of it is that Clay Aiken found John on bigmuscle.com, they emailed for a while, and then they had an unsafe sex session, in which Paulus, a former marine, bottomed for the pop twink. Paulus has a semen-stained towel to prove it.

As always, we wanted to wriggle ourselves right to the prostate of this matter, so we’ve actually had email conversations with Paulus. It turns out, contrary to what’s been reported, that he received no money for telling his tale to the National Enquirer. In fact, he was fired from his job, but he ended up getting a deal with porn director Michael Lucas, so hopefully he has enough money to buy condoms these days.

But it brings forth the question: if you slept with a closeted pop star, would you rat him out?

On the one hand, you wouldn’t tell a closeted guy’s parents that he was gay. But do people in the public eye have a greater responsibility to set an example? Is their personal comfort less important than getting mainstream America comfortable with gay figures?

Luckily, we’ve already had four shots of tequila at our desk in the last half hour, and couldn’t give a twat.

Viva la weekend!

(a moment of silence (and another shot) for the death of Boy's Room. Oh, how we loved/hated that place...)

Isn't This Confusing Enough As It Is?

We’re sorry that the FAGAT Guide has taken such a personal bent lately – we’ve just been very busy and interesting things keep happening to us. But we promise, this will be the last personal one for a while.

You see, we recently met a very cute boy at a men’s show last week at the start of Fashion Week. We pursued him through a mutual friend, asking him what his deal was (as in, is he single or in a relationship – because boy clearly wasn’t straight). Her response? “He is Omni.”

We were flummoxed.

We’ve heard of gay, we’ve heard of lesbian, we’ve heard of bisexual. Hell, we’ve heard of transgendered and transsexual. But Omni? As far as we understood it, bisexual meant that a person liked both boys and girls. Do we really need MORE than that? At what point do children and animals get involved?? So we asked a bisexual friend of ours to explain the difference. “Well, when you’re omni,” he said, rolling his eyes as if we were born yesterday, “you can pick and choose what you want from wherever.”

Not being enlightened at ALL by that statement, we went back to the source. She clarified: “He'll date a man, woman, vegetable, as long as its right!”

Now, we appreciate that sentiment, but really, did we have to bring in the VEGETABLES? Still confused, we consulted the final word on everything everything: Wikipedia. They helpfully explain:

“Pansexual, omnisexual, and pomosexual (postmodern sexuality) are substitute terms that rather than referring to both or "bi" gender attraction, refer to all or "omni" gender attraction, and are used mainly by those who wish to express acceptance of all gender possibilities including transgender and intersex people, not just two.”

So, wait. We’re used to getting the sloppy seconds of some random female hos. Most gays at least stop at second base on their way over to our team. But our rear end could be in the proximity of the same cock that, say, tickled Amanda Lepore’s fauxgina?

We’ll pass, thanks.

If I Can Make It There, I'm Gonna Make It Anywhere

We went to the Heatherette show last night, and once again it was amazing. It began with thumping music and darkness, and a monologue about New York voiced by Richie Rich. Then the lights went up on three tap dancers dressed as zombies. After that more (sexy/scary) dancers came out, and then the show began.

Of course the clothing was mostly unwearable (the guy dressed as the Indian was mega hot, but we don’t know HOW that shit stayed on his lower body) and the crowd was irreverent. But it felt like a rock concert, and with Naomi Campbell closing the show, we thought it was a complete success.

Afterward, in the backstage lounge as we watched Alan Cumming hit on one of the shirtless models, we wondered why it was we took up writing, and not sit-ups, full time. Then we overheard a pair of models groan:

“I’ve had a piece of glitter stuck in my eye for two days,” said the first.

“It’s like déjà vu all over again,” the other replied.

And we felt better.

We Think The Public Would Prefer A Vanity Fair Cover With These Two Naked With Tom Ford.

We’re sitting at our desk at work and there is a copy of “O” The Oprah Magazine on the floor near us. It’s an “O At Home” special edition, and its cover features Nate Berkus squatting with a white rose in his mouth. Berkus is staring up at us with a maniacal grin (and perfect white teeth). It’s an altogether ridiculous pose that would make anyone look like a fool, but Berkus is just so. damn. adorable. that it’s actually cute.

We totally hate him.

On a related note, we hear from a VERY good source that the rumors about Berkus dating a certain Latin singing sensation ARE, in fact, dead on. The two have been doing the deed for months. The source is so good, in fact, that in the gossip world we would call it “practically under the bed.”

As opposed to “practically at orgasm,” which is where we are, just imagining the visual.

The Queen Is Dead. Long Live The Queen.

Like all of you, we are in love with Daniel V from Project Runway.

So last Thursday when we ran into a publicist friend of ours who works on the show, naturally we inquired whether he was single, and if we could be set up with him. He is single, as it turns out, and looking for love. Our friend was with last year’s winner Jay McCarroll, who caught wind of our interest.

“You know,” snapped McCarroll, swinging his giant Spin Doctors be-hatted head in our direction, “He is less cute in person than he is on TV!” We assured Jay that it was fine – we are also cuter on television. “I was supposed to get all the ass when I won last year, and I got nothing! Now little Daniel comes along with his floppy hair in his big schnozz and he’s getting all the boys. What the hell?” McCarroll continued. “Why can’t you fall in love with someone real? Get a hobby!”

We laughed it off because, frankly, we’re cute and fun and Jay McCarroll is ugly and appalling. But then, when we were outside of the party (It was a MAC Cosmetics party and Pam Anderson’s boobs were there) he approached us again and continued to berate us. “Think with your mind, not your crotch!” he commanded, as if someone who thought with their mind would somehow want to date Jay instead.

The implication there, we suppose, is that someone with a “mind” has no “eyeballs,” or “sense of touch.”

"Does My Hair Look Too Shiny?"

So our friend Sitting Bull, much like Denise Richards, had an HIV test this week. Denise Richards got hers because she found out her husband was rampantly cheating on her with prostitutes. Sitting Bull got his because he is a bath house troll (when he’s not fucking, he can be found living under a bridge with Cynthia Nixon’s girlfriend).

We tease. Sitting Bull is a demure and well-behaved lady with a lovely and devoted husband. He was just doing his gay duty and getting tested regularly. It’s nice for him that he has a boyfriend who can handle the testicular exams for him. We have to do it ourselves – in the shower.

Anyway, Sitting Bull reminded us today of a universal phenomenon: there comes a time when as gays, we all become Bill Frist.

In the moments before receiving the results of an HIV test we go from being confident, healthy, fun-loving queers to nervous nellies who honestly wonder whether we caught it while wiping off the elliptical at Crunch, or even sitting next to that hysterically crying queer during “Brokeback Mountain” at Chelsea Clearview. All those incredibly awkward moments we spent in the bedroom asking “I don’t have a condom, don’t YOU have a condom?” suddenly seem fruitless. The blundering silences as we waited, grundle humiliatingly exposed, as the top fumbled with the wrapper? Wasted. The annoyingly long period when we insisted upon safe sex with our boyfriend until we could check his dental records to prove he wasn’t crystal whore? Might as well have barebacked on the first date.

Why does this test, which should be an affirmation of health, play upon our deepest guilt? Do we really think, deep down, that we’re all sluts?

Since this post has turned into a column from “Sex and the City,” We will end it fittingly. By going and fucking Jason Lewis.

With a condom.

Be safe!

We Really Wanted To Wipe Off His Little Poop Mustache

The other day when we complained that no one mentioned the word “gay” during the Golden Globes in reference to “Transamerica,” “Capote” or “Brokeback Mountain,” we realize we were being a little bit “glass is half empty” about the whole thing. Last night we ran into John Waters at a Paper Magazine party for his new Next show, “Movies That Will Corrupt You,” and he laughed at our concerns.

“What do you mean?” Waters scoffed. “Everybody refers to them as gay. Every article in the world calls it a ‘gay cowboy movie’. It’s going to be the gay Oscars. They should re-name it the GLAAD awards.”

We will choose to look at this whole situation as well in a glass-is-half-full manner. We made John Waters laugh. That puts us on par with a drag queen eating shit, internal organs on burning pokers, and a woman who can pick up a bottle of soda with her vag.

Score.

Then Again, You Could Just Buy The Porn. It Would Save You A Lot Of Laps.

We’re going to be honest about something: We’ve never understood why there is such a thing as the Gay Games. We see why the Paralympics exist, and we even get the rationale behind the Special Olympics. Hell, we even sort of understand “Champions on Ice.” But we don’t like the implication behind needing a Gay Games. The reason the Special Olympics and Paralympics exist is that the contestants are mentally or physically handicapped (sometimes both) and therefore, from birth, are disadvantaged to the point where they could never compete in the real Olympics. But there is nothing physically or mentally wrong with gay people – shouldn’t we just use the real deal? That’s what other minority groups (black, Mormon, libertarian, etc) do. By insisting upon our own competition, are we admitting that we are inherently less good at sports?

That is not to say we don’t support gay athletics. Gay amateur sports leagues are a fun way to meet people and a good way to stay healthy. But the insistence upon our own, watered-down Olympics has always struck us as a little bit, well, embarrassing.

Of course, for every well-reasoned argument, there is clearly a flip side. In this case, it’s obvious. Whoever came up with the idea to get every gay guy with a rockin’ swimmers body into a locker room at the same time is clearly a genius. If we met him, we would immediately buy him a drink, and a cameraphone…


We will never advance as a society.

If We're All Fairies, Queens And Crones, Someone's Gotta Be A Wizard, Right?

We think it's time we directed you to the online presence of one of or favorite performers, and oldest acquaintances. Soce the Elemental Wizard is something that so many people in New York strive to be, and very few achieve: he is one of a kind. As a gay Jewish rapper (he also plays the violin excellently), Soce is occupying a gap that we never knew needed to be filled.

He performs in Manhattan and Brooklyn at open mic nights, and has his own gigs occasionally where he headlines with other, like-minded MCs. While there are many exciting and hilarious parts of his website to explore, our favorite has always been the video for his song "Sad and Lonely." Be warned, however: This song is catchy, and you might find yourself singing it to yourself softly as you ride up the elevator with strangers. This we do not recommend.

We just thought of this: As strange as the idea of a gay Jewish rapper may be, why does the idea of a gay Christian rapper seem even more far-fetched?

We Guess That's Why They Don't Call It Wonkbutch.

You may have read on other gay blogs about the controversy surrounding David Lat, the former “Underneath Their Robes” blogger who is about to begin helming Wonkette . Conservative Lat has a great resume: Harvard undergrad and Yale Law. And he’s a funny little bitch. But what’s causing a ruckus among the queers is a series of columns he wrote for the Harvard Crimson years ago, which some say were homophobic. Is someone with an anti-gay bias going to change the heart and soul of a popular blog? Some say, yes. Won’t it be funny when everyone learns that the person is gay himself? We say, sure!

First off, here’s a sample of his college writing: "National Coming Out Day is just another event in the recent rash of identity-based pride rallies. These alleged celebrations of diversity have devolved into mutual masturbation festivals. They reassure people who are still deeply troubled by their lifestyle choices and are desperately seeking a stamp of approval. We have a duty to deny them this approval."

Ouch. That was way harsh, Tai.

Still, what’s interesting to us is not that he once wrote a series of columns that sounded homophobic. We’ve all written/said/snorted some things in our lives we wish would go away. But in his new position as Wonkette editor, Lat is likely to have to write about hypocritical arch-conservatives who lead secret gay lives. A few popular DC blogs (America Blog and Blog Active) focus on this topic. If Lat, an arch-conservative, had an under-the-radar gay life of his own, it seems to be a conflict of interest that should at least be recognized. And outrageously mocked – Wonkette is the ass-fucking blog, after all.

And yet, here we are. It is our understanding that in fact, yes, Mr. Lat is one of us – and relatively open among his friends about that fact. Otherwise, we’d be reluctant to say anything. While at Yale, he had a relationship with an undergraduate male known to us. Which makes sections of the recent Times article about him that refer to his “double life” and his difficulty explaining it to his parents especially humorous. Not to mention this passage:

"David was on this one side a hard-core Federalist Society type, who clerked for an extremely hard-right judge, and was way to the right of most of his associates. And he had this whole other side of flamboyant, theater-watching, Oscar-watching, shoe-loving, litigatrix. How do these two sides get reconciled?"

We emailed Mr. Lat to get comment and see if he had anything to say. After all, there is a possibility that we are mistaken. But he declined to respond to our questions, and hedged with a grace matched only by Anderson Cooper:

“I'm flattered by all the interest in my personal life, but I'm really undeserving of all this attention. While the publicity whore in me is obviously gratified by the media coverage, I realize it's ridiculous that this much ink has been spilled over me. I am a mere blogger -- and not just any blogger, with all the insignificance that the term denotes, but a blogger who got his start writing about judges (a topic most Americans find soporific).”

And then he asked us to call him if we were ever in DC, so we could go out. Ass fucking, here we come!

“You Can’t Handle The [Naked] Truth!”

We have lately been intrigued by a series of ads on other gay blogs for “David Rich Fitness Naked.”

While we knew a fitness video where the instructors (sexy Lewis Payton models) exercised naked was too much to hope for, we were pleasantly surprised to find out what they mean by that suggestive title. The guys, David Rich and Sean Harley, designed a workout program specifically targeted at making your body look good naked. Not to be strong, not to be huge, not to be better at sports - merely to look good without clothes. Which, to be perfectly honest, is why we work out. And we suspect we are not the only ones.

So when we came across this marketing plan, we were impressed. To hell with you, fitness celebrity John Basedow. These guys are speaking our language.

But then we noticed a highlighted quote, among pictures of men with ridiculous abdominals in impossibly small bathing suits:

“Fact: You want to look great Naked. Who doesn’t? People will treat you better, you’ll get more attention and more friends, a more fulfilling love life, you will feel great and get to live the life you’ve always wanted to live.” [Emphasis theirs]

Hm.

This is a little bit like in “A Few Good Men” when Jack Nicholson says: “You don't want the truth because deep down in places you don't talk about at parties, you want me on that wall!” It’s a little too honest. We like to secretly think everything will get better when we look good naked, but we don’t want anyone to admit it. If we go on stripping bare the neuroses of gays, what’s next? Someone admitting that hilarious bitchiness is just a cover for massive insecurity?

Come on, let’s keep some of our cards to ourselves…

We Promise To Remain Bitter Until Someone Sticks A Dick In Us.

We were blissfully ignoring the onset of February 14 until this morning when we were opening our mail at work, and we received our first Valentine’s Day gift!

Pleased and flattered, we opened it up right away. It turned out to be a DVD of “Saw II” and two severed fingers, made of chocolate.

Thanks Lions Gate Films! So romantic. We will be sure to nibble on the fingers as we cry ourselves to sleep on the 14th, fat, alone, and watching the last 25 minutes of “Love Actually,” “Bridget Jones,” and “Sean Cody's Greatest Hits” over and over…

But it did make us think. Valentines Day is something that, unlike gay marriage, adoption rights, and inheritance rights, we don’t have to fight to make our own. It’s is a bastion of heterosexuality that they can’t stop us from invading. And yet… do we really want it?

Sure, we’ve had bad Valentine’s Days (our first girlfriend, Mary, dumped us on Feb. 14 in the sixth grade) and good ones (our boyfriend Brian went to see us in “La Boheme” (we played a non-singing waiter) and brought us flowers). But for the most part, we associate the holiday with disappointed girlfriends and poorly lit Italian restaurants – and you KNOW we don’t do pasta.

So…. We propose that Halloween become the new gay Valentine’s Day. It’s really more what we are about – exhibitionism, camp, boys in skimpy costumes, better candy, big parties and “funny” shirtless pictures of ourselves specifically taken for the purpose of posting on Friendster.

And really, if you’ve ever stumbled home in a skimpy Tarzan costume at 7 in the morning, still drunk, smeared all over with blue paint from some hot guy who was dressed as Smurfette, shivering in the freezing cold Nov. 1 weather, you know… That’s a holiday done RIGHT.

Who’s with us?

Jack And Ennis Were Just Cuddling For Warmth. What?

We came across an interesting interview with Jeremy Irons in the UK Evening Standard yesterday. Now, Irons is clearly not a homophobe - but some of the things he said made us do a double take. Take, for example, his interpretation of the relationship between Charles and Sebastian in Evelyn Waugh's exhausting love chronicle "Brideshead Revisited." He calls their closeness a "male platonic friendship, spanning many years."

Riiiiight. And Oscar Wilde was just Bosie Douglas' "mentor."

But we especially like this part of the interview, when the author asks if Irons has ever fallen in love with another man:

"I think I am too competitive with men, that is what gets in the way. I can understand love between two men, I have no trouble getting my head around that. But I have never fallen in love with another man."

Let us digress for a moment, into personal territory...

We have been single for approximately one month in New York City. In that month, we have started going to the gym at least four times a week, spent approximately $1,000 on denim, shoes, and furniture to spice up our apartment, tried two new facial products and three new haircuts.

On Tuesdays we go to Beige. On Wednesday we go to Phoenix. On Thursdays we go to Duvet. On Friday we go to Opaline. On Saturdays we go to Starlight. On Sundays, we go to Hiro. (On Monday, the Gay Sabbath, we rest.) On each of those nights, we stand by the bar, with every other 23-38 year-old on the city, sizing up whether the boys around us have the right body, haircuts, denim, shoes and facial products. If we find a boy we like, we then have to size up all of the rest of the crowd around him to see if their body, haircuts, denim, shoes and facial products are better than ours. We are 6'3" with brown hair and blue eyes. But that guy over there who is eyeing the same cutie is 6'1" with BLOND hair and blue eyes. Who wins out?

If the temperature is right, we strike up a conversation. If we want to impress the person, we mention our fabulous job. If his is more fabulous, we might be forced to bring up our Ivy League education. If he name drops his law school, we name drop our prep school - all the while eyeing the boys around us who might have gone to prep school AND law school, and checking to see if our eyebrows are better than theirs. "You read New York Magazine?" we ask. "We prefer the New Yorker."

"Oh, you played squash at Brown?" we murmur politely. "We rowed at Yale."

So, Jeremy Irons, you think you're "too competitive with men" to be gay, eh?

Bring it on, bitch. You wouldn't last a day in Chelsea with that haircut.

Hmmm... New Philippe Starck Dining Room Set? Or A Baby. Decisions, Decisions...

When we were young, we used to get a meager allowance. We were forced to give part of it every week to the collection at our Catholic Church (No joke. And thank God, really, because we've gotten QUITE a return on that investment).

But the rest of it we spent mostly on comic books, basketball cards and shiny rocks. Our loving parents always tried to get us to think about saving up for something we might really want, like a college education for our children or a bike with one of those pink banana seats and streamers. We never listened.

And now we realize we're not the only ones. A recent UK study shows that gay men and women make more money on average than their straight counterparts - and also that we spend it mostly on "leisure activities."

"Lesbians and gay men are currently spending the bulk of their wealth on CDs (£800m a year), DVDs (£843m) and holidays – more than £3 billion was spent by lesbians and gay men on tourism last year, according to the study."

We love it when we live up to stereotypes. The leather sling market must be a little harder to follow nationally, otherwise we're sure that would be in there, too.

It kind of makes you wonder what would have happened if everyone just SHARED their copies of "Confessions on a Dancefloor" and gave all the money we saved to Jack Abramoff...

We Guess This Implies A Definition For “Jelly Sticks,” Too.

After telling you about our favorite new term, the “Marcia,” a good friend let us in on another idiom we didn’t know about.

What do you call it when two bottoms date one another?

“Doughnuts.”

Why?

Because they are all holes and no poles!

Yuck, yuck.

We Cheer And We Lead, We Act Like We're On Speed, You Hate Us 'Cause We're Beautiful, Well We Don't Like You Either

Over at Vividblurry.com they’ve started the inevitable Hot Boy Posse debate. We’ve mentioned the HBP in previous posts but we’ve never really explained who they are because we’re hesitant to give them any more attention. But what’s going on at Vividblurry is worthy of comment.

HBP is a group of boys started by this character named GoGo Mike. There have been previous iterations of this group, for generations apparently, but now GoGo is pretty much in charge. It’s a loosely affiliated collection of handsome-ish aging white guys with good bodies who have bound together to form an exclusive club.

In our high school, there was a self-anointed group like this that called themselves the “Sweet Posse.” We kid you not. They came up with this name because thought they were “sweet,” logically enough. They wanted people to resent them but nobody had the energy. What strikes us as most unfortunate about HBP (other than the ridiculous and embarrassing website and promotional material) is that it crystallizes a lot of what is high school-like in the gay communities in even the biggest of cities. Even though there are thousands of gay men in a place like New York, there are only a few places for us all to go out, and even fewer spots that are cool – so it’s possible to know people everywhere you go.

There is a hierarchy based on looks and charisma. And most people don’t know one another, but there are certain people whom everybody knows. In a community where acceptance is extremely important to new members, it’s just a bummer that this kind of setup, this stratification, comes up. If you read the entries in the comments section over at Vividblurry, you’ll see what we’re talking about. People have a hard time distinguishing between their disdain, resentment and jealousy for HBP – potentially because they’re all the same thing. We know the HBP kids just want to have fun, but then again, that’s how Slap Bracelets got started, isn’t it? And look where that got us.

We’re sorry this was such an earnest post. To make up for it, we will tell the only joke that we know:

Q: What’s better than winning a gold medal at the Special Olympics?

A: Not being retarded.

Not That We Expected Michael Lucas To Be Literate, But It’s ‘Sex AND The City,’ Thank You.

A really stupendous thing has happened.

We have somehow (through no effort of our own, we swear) made it onto the reviewers mailing list for Lucas Entertainment. We got our first batch of porn to review today.

The DVD is part of a series called “Encounters.” The tag line is priceless: “In New York, with a population of 10 million, SEX happens.”

(Technically, there are only 8 million of us. Does this mean only ORAL happens?)

We have yet to screen this new gem, but from the press release, we can tell it’s going to be a winner. It’s described as a totally new idea, “an homage to New York life – fully embracing the Chelsea lifestyle.” Hmmm… 'Roided out muscle queens having marathons of anonymous sex? This new idea has really knocked our socks off.

(Which, we suppose, is good. We needed something to clean up with.)

But seriously, when can we expect to see porn that is NOT embracing the Chelsea lifestyle? How about an East Village or Lower East Side porno? You know, with thin pretty boys who are overeducated and underpaid and like slumming it in the formerly dangerous neighborhoods where RENT took place?

We would totally cast Topher Grace as ourselves.

Catherine Zeta-Jones Finds Shark, Jumps.

We ran into Alan Cumming at a Chanel dinner at Lever House last week and of course we asked him about the project in which he is involved, the Catherine Zeta-Jones Gay Rugby Musical project.

Cumming explained that he was "attached to it," but didn't really quite know what was going on. "I was in the swimming pool at Palm Springs at Christmas," Cumming (sporting a new shaved 'do) told us. "And this bloke goes 'Hey Alan, I was just called into meet with the director of this movie you’re in.' I said 'Which one?' And he said that one, and I said, 'Oh, well, news to me!'"

We decided to make the pictures on this blog less risque, so that you guys could view it at work (ok, let's be honest, law school), so we'll refrain from posting a shirtless pic of hottie Gavin Henson, who is also "attached" to the film. If you would like to ogle pictures of this English rugby star, we suggest you check out The Blog About Gavin's Tits.

Meanwhile, we're going to go spend some quality time imagining what happened between Joaquin Phoenix and Jonathan Rhys Meyers just after the cameras cut away from them at the Golden Globes...


(ps - Did anyone else notice that no one mentioned the word "gay" once when they were talking about "Brokeback Mountain," "Capote," or "Transamerica" last night? We think the only time it was used was when the "Will & Grace" cast made a joke. WTF?)

“The Marcia.” Learn It. Love It. Live It.

Last month we, together with our roommate Aishwarya, came up with a new and necessary term: “The Marcia.”

Marcia (mahr – shá) : n. A gay man who seems butch until he opens his mouth and turns out to be a giant fag. From the Greek term “hamartia,” meaning “fatal flaw”. Example - "OMG, I finally drunk dialed my internet crush and he turned out to be a total Marcia! You think it's too late to pretend to be deaf so he doesn't talk while we're fucking at the beach house in Rehomo?"

How many times has this happened to you? Someone looks super cute on friendster, and then you see him out at Beige, and he turns out to be a prancing queen. The funniest part is usually that said girly men have no idea the way that they come off – and will often commit the faux pas of teasing other effeminate men. Which is just awkward, for everyone.

Once again, we find ourselves to be ahead of the curved penis. In this month’s “Out,” writer Erik Piepenberg examines this very phenomenon. In addition to discussing the tragicomic genius of faggy muscle daddies, the article makes an interesting point:

“Perhaps what I noticed in the speech of that butch-looking but queeny-sounding guy was a marker of culture, not physiology. Gay men may use ‘gay speech’ in much the same way some racial and ethnic minorities use their own in-group speech patterns, like blacks’ use of what sociolinguists call African-American vernacular English, or, colloquially, Ebonics.”

Holy Hollister! We can get our own SPEECH pattern!? Can we call it “Homosexual vernacular English”, or, colloquially, “what happens to your voice after dozens of cocks slam into your vocal chords”?

To Kal El, Thanks For Everything, Bryan Singer

Calendarlive.com has new "Superman" pictures. And at this point, things have gotten pretty extreme.



Parker Posey as Lex Luthor's evil girlfriend? Could this movie BE any gayer?

We can't wait for the surprise underwater ending scene in that was filmed on HD Steadicam from the inside of the director's hot tub...

What Do You Get When You Cross Russell Simmons With Richard Simmons?

We just got the chance to chat with Roy Simmons, one of the three former NFL players who are currently out of the closet. The other two, David Kopay and Esera Tuaolo, have made more of a name for themselves, but with Simmon's book "Out of Bounds" coming out this month, we think you'll begin hearing his name, too.

Simmons, who played for the Giants and the Redskins from 1979-1984, wrote a crazy book. There's sex with a teammate, bath houses, prostitution, peep shows, booze - it's like a Sean Cody catalog, but in this one, the characters couldn't just go back to their cater waiter jobs at the end of the action.

When we talked to him, we asked him about what he thought the chances are that one day pro football players will be comfortable coming out.

"Minimal," he told us. "That’s how it is. Inless you’re a star, a super, super star. But if you’re just trying to make it, a general player with talent, they’re not coming forward with that, no. It’s not pressing in their life that they would need to come forward and free themselves. Free themselves for the owner to say the next morning, excuse me you’re fired."

So you're saying we've got a chance!

After, if a ball player was gay, he would definitely be a super, super star.

We Always Think We're Missing The Point With These Things.

Does the above advertisement make you want to:

A) Go to the gym immediately and remain there for the rest of your life?
B) Wax your chest and grow stubble?
C) Touch yourself?
D) Look online for the outtakes from this photo shoot, a la Dieux du Stade?
E) Kill yourself?
F) Burn all of your clothes and anything in your apartment that has ever touched a carb?
G) Watch Nip/Tuck?
H) Drink until you forget how much less attractive you are than an Italian model?
I) Go spray tanning?
J) Drink until the guy at the bar looks like an Italian model?
K) Rediscover your collarbone?

Or L) Buy expensive clothing?

Ring, Ring, Ring Goes The Telephone - The Lights Are On But There's No-one Home

It's probably better that our computer won't let us view this at work. Otherwise, we wouldn't be able to do anything else all day...

We're Not Even Going To Mention COSMOgirl!

Our roommate mentioned to us yesterday that he wondered how new magazines could ever start, what with all of the daily refreshed content on blogs. We agreed – even if magazine writing is better edited and more focused, it’s hard to respond to pop culture ahead of the curve of the blogs. Or to report on a niche (cars, sports, gambling, what have you) if there are people who put out copy about it every day for free online.

So it occurred to us that we might be stuck for a while with just the magazines that we already have. Which, to be honest, is pretty grim. So we’ve rounded up a little advice for our current gay publications. We can only hope they read this and take our advice. After all, we did name ourselves The FAGAT Guide…

Instinct: Get writers with a real sense of humor. If Maxim, Stuff, FHM and Giant can find hundreds of funny straight writers, surely you can find one or two gay ones. Eight-pack abs alone do not a monthly make.

Passport: Finally understand that not all of us travel with Jansport backpacks with lots of buttons and rainbow flags on them.

Genre: Get a production budget.

Details: Get it over with and stop clicking [FIND: “man” REPLACE: “woman”] in each article. It’s just confusing for everybody.

Out: Take out all the stuff about old people. Even THEY would rather be reading about young, hot things.

The Advocate: We actually think this magazine is pretty decent, and necessary. But if we had to say something, it would clearly be: lose the lezbos.

Out Traveler: Stop doing stories about places like Morocco, Dubai and Cairo. Why would you ever write about locales where gay people are persecuted and in danger? Does Sports Illustrated write about Provincetown? We don’t think so.

DNA and Blue: Figure out a way to be better distributed in the US. Honestly.

Men’s Health: Just stop pretending.

Jesus Tittyfucking Christ.

The Colin Farrell sex tape has hit the internet.

…And suddenly, handicapped bathrooms in offices everywhere were occupied…

He's Not Gay. He's Just Witty. And Likes To Wear Boots.

We've been chuckling for days about the recent kerfluffle in the UK over Kevin Spacey's name being included on educational materials about gay people in public schools. It reminds us of a time the "Usual Suspects" star chatted up a very handsome friend of ours at a Los Angeles party in the late 90's.

Spacey followed our friend out of the party, but was soon confronted with the fact that our straight-acting pal wanted to head home alone. K-Pax then came out with our favorite never-say-die entreaty ever:


"Hey," he grinned sheepishly. "You don't have to be a waterskier to waterski."


Brilliant.

We Can’t Wait For When Kimberly Stewart Tries To Date One Of These Guys.

Gay TV channel LOGO is now casting for a pilot of a “Laguna Beach” type reality show, located in Provincetown. The camera will follow 8 to 10 P-town boys as the live, love and, presumably, tweak on the tip of Cape Cod for a summer. Here are the questions that prospective stars are supposed to answer as part of the interview process:

* Did you just break-up and need to get away for the summer?
* Have you heard that P-Town is a gay-friendly mecca and you'd like to get your feet wet?
* Do you work at a restaurant in P-Town and wonder what it'd be like to be on a TV show?
* Do you own a business on Commercial Street?

Which, we feel, is completely the wrong way to go about casting this show. If we were going to do a reality show about Provincetown on a gay network, our questionnaire would be something more like this:

* Did you just break-up, and will stop at NOTHING to get revenge?
* Have you heard that P-Town is a gay-friendly mecca and you want to get plunged more time than Wood’s Hole?
* Do you work at a restaurant in P-town and sell crystal on the side?
* Do you own a business on Commercial Street, and wonder what it would be like to murder people?

We would, of course, wait until the interview to find out the rest of the important information, like what was their favorite Melrose Place moment involving Kimberly, or roughly how many penises they fit inside their assholes at once...

We think this list would provide much higher quality television, in the end.

I'm Sorry. I'm Not Familiar With That Term.

The highest Cherokee Indian court in America has decided not to strike down the first gay marriage in Indian country.

"Cherokee tribal members Kathy Reynolds, 29, and Dawn McKinley, 34, married in May 2004 in Oklahoma, just weeks after the city of San Francisco ignited a national debate on gay marriage by briefly allowing same-sex couples to wed ... Because tribal law at the time allowed same-sex marriages, a tribal clerk gave them a wedding certificate. But members in the Tribal Council sued, saying the marriage would damage the reputation of the Cherokees, and the law was later changed. In a December 22 decision announced on Wednesday, the Judicial Appeals Tribunal of the Cherokee Nation, the tribe's highest court in Tahlequah, Oklahoma, rejected the request for an injunction against the marriage."

While the decision to changing back the law to make gay marriage illegal again is a disappointment, it’s nice that the Cherokee court decided not to take away something that had already been given to this couple. They wouldn’t want to be known as… uh… never mind.

Anyway, this is the kind of wisdom and consideration we’ve come to expect from the American Indian Community. After all, these people did figure out how to use the whole buffalo.

Well, You Need To Have SOMEONE Around To Help You Pick Out Shoes.

We were taping commentary for a special on VH-1 today about “Kept Men,” and something occurred to us.

In addition to being official purse holders, what do Star Jones’ husband Al Reynolds, LeAnn Rimes husband Dean Sheremet, and Charlize Theron’s fiancé Stuart Townsend all have in common?







They’re all over 6 feet tall, of course!

Honest, Officer. I Was Just Helping That Sheep Over The Fence!

A senior pastor at South Tulsa Baptist Church on Oklahoma (who regularly preaches against homosexuality) was arrested on Tuesday for soliciting a male undercover cop for oral sex in a parking lot where gay prostitutes are known to hang out.

The pastor, Lonnie Latham, “has also spoken out against same-sex marriage and in support of a Southern Baptist Convention directive urging its 42,000 churches to befriend gays and lesbians and try to convince them that they can become heterosexual "if they accept Jesus Christ as their savior and reject their 'sinful, destructive lifestyle," writes the AP.

His excuse?

"I was set up. I was in the area pastoring to police."

Which, to be fair, could definitely be true. He was trying to help!

It’s just like that time we got arrested at The Cock examining people for testicular cancer.

(Thanks Andy for this)

Perhaps They Should Have Named It "Slightly-Perforated-Rectum Mountain."

The fags over at Not Only But Also have raised a very important question: In Brokeback Mountain, How Did Jake And Ennis Have Sex With No Lube?

“No wonder. Ennis, we know this is your first time and all but it takes a lot of magic lotion to get the rabbit into the hat. That Jack goes back for seconds and thirds without some serious consideration of fixing the friction is laughable. Didn't Ang consult any queers?”

We will admit that we, too, shifted uncomfortably in our seats at this moment – and not just to re-adjust the front of our jeans. Bitch, that had to HURT.

But we’d like to point out that for years we’ve been forced to watch many ridiculous and impossible straight sex scenes. For example:

* The rape/love scene between Sharon Stone and Fill-In-The-Blank Baldwin in “Sliver,” in which he sneaks up behind her and is suddenly inside her without her knowledge, ramming her against a pillar.

* The waterfall fuck scene between Kyle McLaughlin and Jessie Spano in “Showgirls.” Even we queers know sex in a chlorinated pool ain’t that great.

* The reverse cowboy situation between Sharon Stone and Catherine Zeta-Jones’ dad in “Basic Instinct.” If you think Jake Gyllenhaal was hurting…

So cut us some slack on the lube thing. After all, we remained quiet all those times in films when women had real orgasms even when they weren’t on top…

There Was Definitely An Episode Of Queer As Folk About Exactly This

A gay rights group has filed a lawsuit against Massachusett’s Attorney General Thomas Reilly for allowing an initiative to reach the polls that could overturn the State Supreme Court’s decision to allow gay marriages. They say his actions were unconstitutional, as a ballot does not have the power to overturn court decisions, according to the state’s constitution. Conservative opponents to gay marriage throughout the state easily obtained the 170,000 signatures needed to get the initiative onto the ballot, mostly through the help of the well organized church networks through the state.

This is all very complicated, and we don’t live in Massachusetts. But what seems clear to us is that these opponents to gay marriage are frighteningly well organized, while we are at best a ragtag crew that gathers together occasionally for cocktails and parades and sunbathing. Nobody carries a pen to these events, much less a ballot initiative petition. (Honestly, we’re lucky if we can even get everyone to wear underwear.)

So we had an idea. What if we started a queer RELIGION? (Unitarian doesn’t count, even though it’s pretting fucking gay.) The Mormons did it less than two hundred years ago! Something that everyone could agree they believed in - that everyone loved and wanted to get involved in. We could take the best elements from other faiths! We could invent heirarchy of holy figures, like the Catholics. Following the Buddhists, we could practice our religion on our own in a quiet place, or in groups if we chose. Like Fundamentalist Christians, we could encourage gays to donate money regularly - and there could even be online worship. That way we could create an huge database of contacts, and reach people quickly and easily!

And hey, for the Jews we could even throw in some institutionalized guilt.

Now if we could think up something like that...

Anti-Gay Politician Wears Popped Collars, Once Laughed At Will & Grace

Conservative hacks are rumbling that Massachusetts governor Mitt Romney, a vocal anti-gay rights activist, is just too 'mo friendly for a national GOP candidacy:

"He opposes gay marriage, refuses to allow out-of-state same-sex couples wed, and supports amending the state constitution to bar gay nuptials, but for many in the the right wing of the Republican Party Massachusetts Gov. Mitt Romney still is too tolerant of gays and lesbians to get their support for a presidential bid.

They point to a 17-year-old Massachusetts law that allows governors to issue one-day certificates to officiate at weddings. Romney has been granting dozens of those certificates to people who want to perform same-sex weddings for friends and relatives. The certificates cost $25. The Boston Globe reports that last year Romney approved 189 requests for special certificates used by people who performed same-sex marriages."

We like this line of thinking. We can't wait for when McCain gets disqualified by Republican brass for being "soft", and Condi Rice loses out because she's just a bit too, well, "white." Alan Keyes for the GOP in 2008!

This Year, We Resolve To Only Have Promiscuous Sex With Cowboys.

Well, 2005 is almost over. And looking back, it's been quite a year. Since every journalist in America is on vacation now and has phoned in year-end wrap-ups, we'll spare you. Instead, we've come up with some suggested New Year's Resolutions for our people, the gay people:

1. After years of bastardization, take the “I” out of the word “boy.” We’re not all Phillipino rent-a-tents, here.
2. Realize that “Desperate Housewives” has jumped the shark. Start tuning in to “Family Guy” instead. Bree has nothing on Lois.
3. Locate t-shirts with sleeves. Related – finally understand that no one believes we are #9 on any sports team, much less one that is called “The Abercrombie Bears.”
4. Find a sassy overweight black woman on American Idol that we DON’T like.
5. Stop being the go to guy in the office for gossip on “Project Runway” and “America’s Next Top Model.” Related – never, ever mention “Skating with the Stars.”
6. Learn an ass exercise that performs the same function that the kegel does for women. Teach it to those who need it. (You know who you are. This one’s for the team.)
7. Prepare for loss of “Will and Grace” by learning to enjoy one televised sport. This may sound terrifying, but it will not be nearly as bad as trying to watch “Four Kings” instead. (Note – do not pick hockey as your sport. Not only will this fail to make connections with your straight friends because nobody watches hockey, but you will quickly find you prefer the look of basketball, football and baseball uniforms. Also, tennis – the Bel Ami of ESPN - does not count.)
8. Finally learn that lingering eye contact does not foreplay make.
9. Make one lesbian friend. But no more than that.
10. Stop assuming that men in bars with baseball hats are bald underneath. They are, but when you assume it makes an ASS out of U and ME.
11. Figure out what’s so great about getting slapped in the face with an erect penis. Perhaps someone could email Chi Chi about this.
12. Devise a way to get DJs to play Mariah Carey’s “All I Want For Christmas Is You” year round.
13. Prepare for when people ask us whether we think Tom Cruise is gay. The answer should be an emphatic “No.” He is a freak, and there’s a difference.
14. Stop assuming that Orlando Bloom, Jake Gyllenhaal and Hayden Christensen are gay. U and ME will never tap that ASS.
15. Teach a straight friend how to wear a scarf, even though this will be confusing for us in the wintertime. They deserve to be warm, too.
16. Force our fag hags off the couch and into the dating world. We need that couch for sex.

And finally-

17. Don't forget to fight - even if you live in New York or LA and life is easy for you. Give regularly to the Human Rights Campaign. Read the news. Vote. Have a debate. Come out. Get to know a close-minded person so well that they one day say "I have a gay friend." Do whatever you can.

See you in 2006!

Certain Websites Would Have You Believe Differently, But...

Old gays and young gays don’t communicate well, according to a new study. We agree with this sentiment. Last week we got stoned and went to see “Gay Sex In The 70s.” We had no idea what anybody was talking about.

And there wasn’t enough sex.

But seriously, the report brings up an important issue: How can the older generation of gays who struggled so much pass on their knowledge and wisdom to a group of people who are facing a different set of problems?

Luckily, we don’t deal with important issues. If we were able to communicate with the older generation, we would ask them: Why the mustaches? And all the flannel? And the acid-washed jeans? And honestly, what’s the logic behind letting Bette Midler into a place where you all had sex?

We’re sure they’d have a question or two for us, too. The answers of course, are: Yes, we will let you buy us dinner and pretty things. No, you cannot touch us there.

And maybe, if we’re drunk, we might let you watch.

So Then, For My Birthday Party, Which Was An All-Girls Pool Party, I Was Like, "Janis, I Can't Invite You, Because I Think You're Lesbian."

We’re not saying anybody is gay or anything. But today’s Page Six item about Bryan Singer’s holiday “Mostly Male” pool party made us recall that it’s about the time of the season for Lance Bass’s “Mainly Mo” New Year’s bash. Our favorite "Mean Girls" star, Jonathan Bennett, is expected again this year. If someone at the party has a moment of clarity during an E downroll, can you please send us pictures of the nonsexual naked chickenfights in the pool?

Because, after years and years, White Squall just isn’t doing it for us anymore.

And Here We Were Thinking, Short People Ain't Got No Reason To Live...

We have just made an amazing discovery.

Nowhere Bar, the strange, always empty gay hole-in-the-wall near our apartment, has a special night every Wednesday. It's called Runt Nite. And it's for - wait for it - short gays.

And the appropriately-sized gays who love them.

This news really made our day. We can't stop imagining how every Wednesday, the Oompa Loompas of New York wriggle out of their trundle beds, get off the stepping stool in front of the bathroom sink, pull on their Gap Kids jeans and flock to Nowhere. There, they can drink .99 cent pints (har!), or half pints, which are cheaper (hardy har!), and attempt to grope one another under the barstools with their stubby Simpsonesque fingers. Brilliant.

If you're looking for us tonight, we'll be the ones walking down 14th Street with the bowling balls ...

KKK Rallies To Oppose Gay Marriage

You know you're doing something right when these guys come out against you.

I MEAN...

Like so many undereducated white people in the 90s, all we can say is:

“GO RICKY! GO RICKY!”


(Thanks to JustJared for this)

It's Called A Dance Floor. And Here's What It's For...

Madonna has admitted that when she was young, she used to sneak away from home and go to gay clubs for fun. It helped her realize who she was, and that it was okay to be different.

"I used to tell my dad I was sleeping over at a girlfriend's house - which essentially I was. He'd say, ‘I want to take you dancing to a club.' I had no idea where we were going and he took me to this gay disco in Detroit called Menjos," Femalefirst quoted her, as saying. "It was just amazing - to see all these men dancing with one another. I'd spent my whole life feeling like a freak and an outsider and that nobody understood me and suddenly I felt like it's OK to feel different," she added.

We’re glad we could help, Madonna. Especially since when WE were young, you helped us realize who we were, and that it was okay to be different.


(Sometimes, we are so gay, it burns when we pee.)

Mistletoe Is For Queers.

Merry Christmas!

(If you hadn't guessed, we here at Fagats are members of the Christian Right and refuse to give in to you PCers who insist upon non-denominational December greetings.)

We're blogging from a public library in Wellesley, Massachusetts, so cut us some slack about the lack of posts. We'll be back on Monday, better (and drunker (and singler (and fatter))) than ever. Talk to you then!

(PS - There is no Jesus. Fuck you, Johnny.)

And You Thought 2xist Underwear Was The Only Thing You Had In Common With Osama Bin Laden

When we heard recently that the government was spying on us, we were initially unconcerned. According DMV we live in Maine. According to our voting records, we live in New York. And according to the phone company, we don't exist. We never really gave our fearless leaders the credit to be able to track us down in a pinch. Remember, this is a group of people who think that the world was created in six days, but haven't been able to find a man attached to a dialysis machine in Afghanistan in FOUR YEARS.

But this article made us pause. The government found a gay "Kiss In" protesting "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" worthy of monitoring for terrorists:

"A February protest at NYU was also listed, along with the law school’s LGBT advocacy group OUTlaw, which was classified as “possibly violent” by the Pentagon. A UC-Santa Cruz “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” protest, which included a gay kiss-in, was labelled as a “credible threat” of terrorism."

We have friends in NYU's OUTlaw, and they are the biggest sissies we've ever met. They are to terrorists what Britney Spears is to Bloc Party - things that are not similar.

Bush can rant all he wants about the need for monitoring risky activity, and that would be fine, if his definition of "risky" activity wasn't so broad and, well, retarded. But it is, and now all this spying into our personal lives doesn't seem so sexy anymore. Maybe someone should do something.

We'll start. We're going to stage a "Fuck-In" at our apartment. That'll teach 'em.

We Just Got Off The Bus In Maine And Boy Are Our Wrists Tired

We are on vacation (Hey, giving handjobs for cash in the basement of the Port Authority pays well, but it has a high burnout rate) again, in Maine this time. Since our "modem" up here is actually a dixie cup tied to the end of a piece of yarn, the internet becomes a little more difficult to use.

So we'll try, when we can, to post links to other people saying interesting things. For example, this super-fucked up article in the New York Times about children selling webcam pornography of themselves.

"A six-month investigation by The New York Times into this corner of the Internet found that such sites had emerged largely without attracting the attention of law enforcement or youth protection organizations. "

Looking at kiddie porn for six months?? How come WE never get the good reporting jobs...

BLOG SEES F.O.D.

Well. We are one step closer to being able to die happy.

We met Ian Somerhalder last night at the afterparty for the opening night of his new play “DOG SEES GOD.”

We’ve run across a fair number of celebrities in our day, so we know this is a cliché – but boy is SHORT. We were particularly amused by his posse of pretty boys who not only adoringly watched his every move, but also doled out the evil eye to all of the other men (including us) who were checking Somerhalder out. Ian was wearing a little pageboy hat and was looking very fey.

We would have scanned the room for his “very close friend” David Kalstein, but we didn’t know what he looked like so we just resorted to staring at Ian. He has a very firm handshake, very blue eyes (possibly contacts) and definitely suffers from the Asian Flush.

On another gay note, “Dog Sees God” is based on what happens to the Peanuts characters when they grow up. Schroeder (played by super hot Logan Marshall Green) has a gay fling with Charlie Brown (played by Eddie Kay “Shitbreak” Thomas), and Somerhalder (Pigpen) has a drug-induced threesome with Marcie and Peppermint Pattie.

Which made us wonder – what ever happened to Calvin from “Calvin and Hobbes”?

We’re afraid to ask.

You Say Tom-ay-to, I Say Hate.

Utah State Senator Chris Buttars wants to ban Gay-Straight alliances in Utah schools.

“In my mind, if you are in the chess club, what do you talk about? Chess," Buttars said. "If you are in the dance club, what do you talk about? Dance. If you are in a gay club, what do you talk about? I just don't believe members of sexual orientation clubs should be sanctioned by the public schools — what they are talking about even a part of the public schools. They should not be allowed to have that on school property at all. It's just wrong."

We were completely unsurprised to read this biased article on the topic in the Deseret News, the official Mormon news source. And imagine our lack of shock when we discovered that Buttars himself is a devout Mormon.

If we may indulge in a little reclamatory language, “We don’t have anything against Mormons. Many of our good friends are Mormons. But it should be kept in private - we don’t see why they feel the need to subject us to their alternative lifestyle.”

Here's another gem from the article:

"Equal access does not allow for illegal or immoral activities, (nor) does our Utah law. Would they allow a marijuana club? A tobacco club?” asked Utah Eagle Forum President Gayle Ruzicka.

Ruzicka, unlike Buttars, was not born a Mormon. She converted.

Here we go again: “Being an imbecile is not a genetic trait, as stupid people would have you believe. It is a conscious choice.”

Awesome and Awesomer.

It’s times like these when we shake our fists at the gods and cry: “Why don’t we have a better understanding of html!?”

We have just intercepted an invitation to the FIRST EVER, National Convention Of The Hot Boy Posse!!!

Yes, you read that correctly.

If you don’t know what the Hot Boy Posse is, you’re either a) way behind or b) not an aging prepster and have better things to worry about. Either way, it’s not worth explaining – the name pretty much says it all. But the email is a four page Acrobat guide to a weekend in Los Angeles during which Hot Boys (not just any hot boys, mind you – CAPITALIZED Hot Boys) will gather, copulate, and then awkwardly exchange business cards and bicker over whose ribbon belt is really from J. McLaughlin.

Here are highlights from the email, which we couldn’t figure out how to post in its ab-tastic entirety:

Los Angeles, CA – Jan. 13-16, 2006
YOU are invited to participate in the BIGGEST, the BEST, and the
FIRST ever NATIONWIDE HBP PARTY event in history!!!
What is HBP Weekend?
In our humble (and highly-biased!!!) opinion, few things compare to the
EXCITEMENT and HYPE that fill the air when a group of successful,
attractive gay boys get together. There have been many smaller scale events
in past, but HBP Weekend represents the first ever targeted mass gathering
of gay boys from every major city from COAST TO COAST!!!
Put quite simply, we have NEVER been so EXCITED about one of our
events!!!

TRANSLATION: We think EXTREME PUNCTUATION and CAPITALIZATION will emphasize how tweaked everyone will be all weekend! (!!!)

If you plan to stay at either [designated] hotel, you are encouraged to make your hotel reservation NOW before others catch notice and potentially book up
availability.

TRANSLATION: Let’s try to take over both hotels. In past experience, other hotel guests tend to grow annoyed at all the slippery doorknobs.

Are couples welcome? Couples are welcome and encouraged to attend!!! If for any reason you are dating someone who did not receive an official invitation, please notify us so that he may be extended a formal invitation.

TRANSLATION: If you are dating someone ugly, never fear. There is a reserved petting zoo area.

We’re really, REALLY sorry we couldn’t upload the pictures (or the edited spoof version, which deserves the Pulitzer), but we’ll keep working on it. Email us or post comments with suggestions.

And We're Back!

We’ve been very bad about posting, we realize, but lay off us! We had a migraine today, and not the good kind.

We’ve been hearing from several of our friends that they didn’t like “Brokeback Mountain” as much as we did. This we can accept. But one friend suggested that we wouldn’t like it so much if the cowboys weren’t so pretty, to which we say: “name one Oscar worthy straight romance in recent years where the lead actors weren’t attractive.” And King Kong doesn’t count.

So here’s what we’ve missed in the past couple of days:

This is amazing.

This is not.

This is great news.

This is hot.


(well, not hot in the traditional sense. But what is quite sexy is that our loving co-worker brought us back some Berocca from Australia just in time for the holidays!)

Breaking: Gay Director Likes Handsome Younger Boys

We love Radar Online, but its Fresh Intelligence section has some issues. The writers don’t know how to piece together a gossip item. Their stories sort of ramble on, they don’t organize what’s important and put it on top, and they leave a lot up to speculation.

Take today’s item about gay X-Men director Bryan Singer. Aside from the fact that it’s similar to what we wrote a couple of days ago, it doesn’t really say anything. It hints that MAYBE Bryan Singer wanted Brandon Routh to play Superman because he is so handsome (ya THINK?). It adds that Singer likes to put together “gay movies” with stars like Kevin Spacey, Ian McKellen, Alan Cumming and Hugh Jackman.

We like it when a writer’s Wolverine sex fantasies get ahead of his fear of libel.

The story ends with the interesting internet theory that Routh will come out as a grand publicity stunt just before the movie opens. Summing up, the item says a whole lot of nothing. It’s as if they sat around Bowery Bar on a Tuesday night, shot the shit with a bunch of pomade queens with vertically striped shirts for a couple of hours, then wrote the whole thing down and put it on their website.

If that qualifies as journalism, call us Peter Fucking Jennings.

We Think The Role of Jay McInerney Should Be Played By Michael Lucas

The rights to gay writer Bret Easton Ellis's new horror book "Lunar Park" have been scooped up by a film company looking to make it into a feature. There are many obvious problems with this: The whole point of the book is that it is a fictionalized account of a seemingly real BEE. Does that mean that he has to play himself? Also, much of the book is based on questioning whether the author is hallucinating. How will that translate onto the screen?

And the book was terrible! Why would they want to make that into a movie??

But the most pressing question, we think, is: How dare they start work on a movie version of "Lunar Park" when they haven’t made the movie of "Glamorama"?? We’ve been waiting years to get a visual of that bisexual sex scene!

Ha ha. "Bareback Mountain." Ha.

A moment of seriousness please.

Last night we attended the New York premiere of "Brokeback Mountain." It was a star studded affair - we were in the popcorn line behind Julianne Moore and Sigourney Weaver, we watched Heath Ledger and Michelle Williams' boobs get up close and personal, and we witnessed Chazz Palmentieri cut the food line at the buffet. The event was as gay-studded as anything we've ever been to, and we've been to the Barney’s Warehouse sale. Andy Towle, MTV's John Norris, and representatives from GLAAD and the Point Foundation all made appearances.

But most importantly, the movie was good. Punch-you-in-the-stomach good. We still feel sort of beat up about it. While we wouldn't characterize it as a "gay" movie, it really underlines the fact that there are no good movies with male-male love stories. The way it leaves you feeling at the end makes you realize that you've been missing out on something when you’ve seen every other great romance drama – your whole life, you haven’t been feeling what straight audiences have been feeling.

And that sucks.

The movie isn't perfect, but Ang Lee has some moments exactly right. We think you will really like it. And yes, the sex scenes are hot. No, they're not too short. Yes, you see Heath and Jake's asses. And yes, you will cry.

(And yes, that is our roommate with Anne Hathaway, who we love in the movie and in life)

Does Yeshiva University Have This Same Problem?

We’re confused.

And not about our gender.

Boston College recently ordered its student LGBT club to change the theme of their annual AIDS benefit dance from “A Night In Gay Paris” to something “less gay” in order to fall more in line with the teachings of the Roman Catholic Church.

"Gay students are accepted and welcomed at Boston College, but as a Catholic university we cannot sanction an event that promotes a lifestyle that is in conflict with church teaching and the mission and heritage of Boston College," Boston College spokesman Jack Dunn said.

We don’t understand. Is this the same college whose law professor, Kent Greenfield, organized a multi-university lawsuit against the Department of Defense over the right of the military to recruit on campus? Is it, or is it not, the same school whose venerated law school kicked said recruiters off campus because of the D.o.D.’s “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” policy because it goes against their discrimination policies?

And, more importantly, don’t they realize gay-themed parties are a cornerstone of college debauchery? From the Sex.Power.God party at Brown to DKE hazing at UVA, drinking just isn’t the same without a little homoeroticism.

What we really want to know is: What does this mean for the a cappella?? Think of the a cappella…

Uh-huh.

Our boyspy spotted Marc Jacobs’ hooker friend, hefty Louis Vuitton duffle in tow, at the HIV testing center at Callen-Lorde community health center in Chelsea today.

If life is one big joke, we think we’d be really good friends with its writer.

Who Needs Spandex?

When we heard that cutie Ben Foster was drafted to play Angel in third X-Men movie, we were a little flummoxed. Ben is in the exact boycandy mold of Shawn Ashmore, who plays Iceman. But unlike the series’ original (gay) director Bryan Singer, X-3 director Brett Rattner’s taste runs more toward Amazonian black superathletes than fey little fresh-faced cubs. Angel from the comic books was older than Foster – so we were surprised by this casting move. We know what Shawn Ashmore had to do to get his role – but what did Foster bring to the table?

Then again, what do we care? Judging by these photos in USA today, Ben suffers from that age-old comic-book hero malady: he is allergic to shirts.

See you at the theaters!

New Young Ownership, Same Old Cumstains

We don’t have much time to blog today, but we wanted to tell you about a new bar that just opened up in the East Village. It’s called Eastern Bloc (and yes, the décor involves lots of sickles and red fists. Foresight?) . It’s located in the old Wonderbar space on 6th Street between Aves A and B. Wonderbar was the first gay bar we ever visited (we were 18) so last night’s opening party was full of memories.

The crowd was a mix of older, bearded muscle types and younger, cleancut gayuppies – so we’re interested to see how it evolves over time. We were pleased to see and say hello to Dylan P., David M., Chris M., Warren S., Jim S., Eric B., and our old roommate Joshua whose last initial we don’t remember (or perhaps never knew).

We were having a lovely time, until the moment when a handsome gay pornstar wearing a big gold cross grabbed us and said “Are you really wearing pleated pants at a gay bar?”

Then we fled home in shame.

Look Who's Talking, Too.

Today's blind item in Cindy Adams' column in the Post caught our attention. Think you know who it is?

"Famous actor, genteelly hitting on his male masseur at a West Coast resort hotel, wanted a treatment up in his room. The star's bodyguard promised, "you'll be well taken care of." The masseur is straight. Just as genteel as the star, he genteelly declined…"

Please put suggestions for who you think the famous actor is in the comment section. If your guesses include names other than John Travolta, don’t bother.

Last One To Chug Has To Clean The Hot Tubs After Gay Ski Week.

This made us chuckle:

For the first time ever Telluride guests will be offered the chance to track their mountain experience with the help of a GPS ski tracking service at this year’s Telluride Gay Ski Week, February 26 - March 5, 2006.Skiers, who participate in the program, will receive an armband that is worn throughout the day to gather data on their skiing activities. At the end of each day, data is downloaded from the armband after which each skier is presented with a detailed souvenir map that reflects and tracks their number of runs, vertical feet, speed, calories burned, distance traveled; time skied, & terrain difficulty. The cost to participate is $35 daily.

That has got to be the gayest thing we’ve ever read. And we own a copy of “The Swimming Pool Library.”

"This is really an exciting addition to Telluride Gay Ski Week experience this year," said Tracee Hennigar, Special Events Manager for the Town of Mountain Village. "Both the die-hard and casual skier can capture an actual record of their daily skiing experience. Now you can show proof to your friends and family that you did ski a double diamond."

We understand the need for this. We know if we don’t come up with proof, our friends and family just assume we were doling out over-the-snowpant-handjobs to our Ski Bunny instructors in the Apres Ski Lounge.

Which we were.

We Suspect Charlize Theron Was Behind All Of This.

Well.

South Africa’s highest court has finally ruled that banning gay marriages is unconstitutional. This will pave the way for full homosexual marriage rights within a year, according to reports.

Yes, you read that correctly. SOUTH AFRICA. This is a country whose President, Thabo Mbeki, thinks that AIDS is caused by poverty and not by HIV. And they are ahead of us on the curve for equal rights.

The government hasn’t commented, but we’re suspicious that Mbeki will take this as a chance to look like a champion for civil rights. After all, only Spain, Canada, the Netherlands and Belgium (no, the last two are not the same country) allow gay marriage so far.

This is totally like the part in “Wicked” when Galinda gets to look good by helping the crippled girl, even though she was just being selfish.

We expect this situation to end similarly.