Dan Wasserman, The Boston Globe
Sunday, February 20, 2005
Saturday, February 19, 2005
Oversexed gorilla sued
Unfortunately, the title is unrelated to the Pete Kuzak photo above. Don´t get me wrong, I don´t want anyone to sue Pete but I´d love to hear some stories about sexual abuse pertaining to him. In any case, what the title refers to is a news story about Koko, the famous gorilla who communicates through sign language. Apparently she has a keen interest for breasts, and now two former female employees have sued the Gorilla Foundation, claiming that they were asked to perform "bizarre sexual acts with Koko". Shame on you, Koko! Didn´t you realize these were homosexual desires? If you go on like this, your next visitor won´t be Robin Williams but Jerry Falwell, in a quest to save you from sin. You´ve been warned.
The color orange copyrighted!
The next time you put on your fancy orange sweater, make sure that you´ve paid the licencing fees or you´ll be sued, like record companies do these days to 12-year-old girls and their dead grandmothers. The British mobile company Orange is suing another company, EasyJet, because they have the audacity to want to use the color orange in their ads. How dare they!
Always a quick learner, I´ve already given orders to my lawyers to prepare a paper which will make me the owner of the color black. Very soon, folks, you´re going to have to pay me for every keystroke of your computer unless you use an orange font, in which case the money goes to Orange. And don´t forget, the double-click is already property of Microsoft, so you should think twice before clicking off this page: it might cost you.
Always a quick learner, I´ve already given orders to my lawyers to prepare a paper which will make me the owner of the color black. Very soon, folks, you´re going to have to pay me for every keystroke of your computer unless you use an orange font, in which case the money goes to Orange. And don´t forget, the double-click is already property of Microsoft, so you should think twice before clicking off this page: it might cost you.
Another soundbite of the day: Jeff Gannon used to call himself "a loose cannon" on his conservative website. Somehow seeing him on the Anderson Cooper show on CNN last night didn´t make me think he was aware of the semantical and psychoanalytical connotations of the words when he coined the expression. (Get it? Coined? As in... oh, well, just forget it.) Then again, if I had to choose between either some verbal irony or a hung marine top with eight inches and just one thing on his mind - as long as it´s not Bush - in my bed, I wouldn´t have to think twice.
Thursday, February 17, 2005
More of my Uberhustler
As usual, Maureen Dowd puts it best. Here´s her article on The New York Times.
Monday, February 14, 2005
My hero: Jeff Gannon, the Uberhustler
I presume that you already know the story, so let´s go straight for the photos here and below, posted by Americablog.
A comment will follow as soon as I´ve finished masturbating.
Sorry it took me so long. The idea of Jeff having both George W. and Karl Rove as his johns, and probably even getting paid with taxpayers´ money, was just too exciting. I´m still gasping for breath, after the most intense climax I´ve reached this year so far.
Now I´d like to write a deep and meaningful post, about Corporate Media, White House reporter payola and Dems cowering in fear despite having a great Bush-bashing weapon in their hands - or perhaps because some of them actually did, and given that hustlers usually keep tabs on their clients further investigation could prove extremely embarrassing - but as I just came I really can´t be bothered. I´ll watch the pictures a little while longer, though.
Jeff´s escorting websites can be found here and here.
Sunday, February 13, 2005
Transhumanity
What on earth is transhumanity? To my surprise, it has nothing to do with RuPaul or Sonia (a certain friend of mine - you may have seen her handwriting in telephone booths, accompanied by a rather pert invitation). Instead, it´s related to such words as transuranian, meaning beyond the orbit of Uranus.
In any case, transhumanity will be the result of medical science evolving us into perfectly beautiful, healthy and immortal beings, through genetic engineering and stem cell research. This thought is an anathema to my daily newspaper; a lengthy article rabidly denounced any such progress. It would lead to a horrifying world of injustice and inequality; Nazi-like blond, blue-eyed superhumans would opress and subjugate what remained of humanity, physically and philosophically speaking. It is a terrifying thought, and for a moment I tried to imagine what that kind of world would be like.
First of all, you´d have to be a handsome Hollywood actor to become a president, and even for governors the minimum requirement would be a world-class bodybuilding championship title. European prime ministers would find it impossible to hold on to their power without hair transplants and facelifts. Insurance companies would slam their door to your face unless you could present them with a flawless pedigree of health. You couldn´t even get laid by non-drug-impaired men, without a strenuous regime of workouts and heavy doses of growth hormone.
The women wouldn´t have it any easier: none of them could aspire for an Academy Award unless they passed through a top model agency first. We´d no longer have such actresses as Susan Sarandon, Jacquelin Bisset and Michelle Pfeiffer. A law would prohibit women from having children unless they were at their prime, and if they decided to do it anyway they´d have to flee to another country where transhumanity hadn´t seized power yet. The mere idea of the price tag for plastic surgery in such a society is paralyzing.
So I let go of this creature of my imagination, and with a relieved sigh. The era of transhumanity isn´t here yet, and if those brave people of my newspaper manage to thwart it we can all live happily ever after.
The women wouldn´t have it any easier: none of them could aspire for an Academy Award unless they passed through a top model agency first. We´d no longer have such actresses as Susan Sarandon, Jacquelin Bisset and Michelle Pfeiffer. A law would prohibit women from having children unless they were at their prime, and if they decided to do it anyway they´d have to flee to another country where transhumanity hadn´t seized power yet. The mere idea of the price tag for plastic surgery in such a society is paralyzing.
So I let go of this creature of my imagination, and with a relieved sigh. The era of transhumanity isn´t here yet, and if those brave people of my newspaper manage to thwart it we can all live happily ever after.
Friday, February 11, 2005
My ´roids pt. 2
I got some really bad news today from those painful blood tests I mentioned a few days ago. My testosterone level is perfectly normal. Damn!
This means it´s going to be nearly impossible to convince my doctor to write me a legal Deca prescription. I mean, what the hell happened? After years and years of reckless steroid abuse there still aren´t any negative side effects, not even when I needed them most.
I guess I´ll just have to get in touch with my Brazilian friends, once again.
This means it´s going to be nearly impossible to convince my doctor to write me a legal Deca prescription. I mean, what the hell happened? After years and years of reckless steroid abuse there still aren´t any negative side effects, not even when I needed them most.
I guess I´ll just have to get in touch with my Brazilian friends, once again.
Thursday, February 10, 2005
Wednesday, February 09, 2005
Arctic escapades
I kid you not - I´m sitting in a cabin somewhere in the polar circle and through my window, this very moment, I can see northern lights blazing across the sky. The magnetic storm is so powerful that the ADSL keeps dropping off line, and I´ll be lucky if I manage to post this before the connection goes dead again. Visiting exotic places does have its downside.
Seeing the northern lights in person you realize that the photos you´ve seen of them are nothing next to the real thing. The pics are like having a huge Tom Chase dildo rammed into your mouth, instead Mr. Chase himself. Not that the reproductions aren´t useful, and instructive, if you don´t have access to the original.
There´s no escaping of the gay news of the day, however, even in an outpost like this. Kate Moss is still seeing a heroin addict, which makes one wonder if she´s planning a new career as the next Joan Baez and her publicist said this was the only way to gain credibility. Hasn´t anyone shown her a picture of The Rolling Stones recently?
My favourite housewife Marcia Cross was outed, and then de-outed, within 24 hours.
But there´s still no word if the hot Swedish girl penguins, flown in from Stockholm, have managed to turn the gay penguins in a German zoo into breeders. The plot may well work; Swedish hotties have done it twice to my best friend in Italy, although I should add that the second time his boyfriend was also present. A remarkable feat, nonetheless. Go, girls!
Seeing the northern lights in person you realize that the photos you´ve seen of them are nothing next to the real thing. The pics are like having a huge Tom Chase dildo rammed into your mouth, instead Mr. Chase himself. Not that the reproductions aren´t useful, and instructive, if you don´t have access to the original.
There´s no escaping of the gay news of the day, however, even in an outpost like this. Kate Moss is still seeing a heroin addict, which makes one wonder if she´s planning a new career as the next Joan Baez and her publicist said this was the only way to gain credibility. Hasn´t anyone shown her a picture of The Rolling Stones recently?
My favourite housewife Marcia Cross was outed, and then de-outed, within 24 hours.
But there´s still no word if the hot Swedish girl penguins, flown in from Stockholm, have managed to turn the gay penguins in a German zoo into breeders. The plot may well work; Swedish hotties have done it twice to my best friend in Italy, although I should add that the second time his boyfriend was also present. A remarkable feat, nonetheless. Go, girls!
Gus Mattox
Have a look at this guy´s website - he´s not only sexy but an excellent writer as well
www.gusmattox.com
Tuesday, February 08, 2005
Sunday school surprise
One boring Sunday night I went to work early, before 10 p.m. Still a newcomer to the Piazza Trento in Milan, I hadn´t learned all the ins and outs of the scene yet. To tell the truth, there weren´t that many: people were generally laid back and friendly, and you only needed to watch out for an occasional police patrol driving by. Having your ID checked by them wasn´t completely unwelcome either, as Italian policemen are very easy on the eye and have their uniforms designed by none else but Mr. Armani himself.
It was a warm night, and to spur potential clients I unbuttoned my sleeveless flannel shirt to show off my pecs and abs, and contemplated the video I had watched earlier in the evening. The dirty thoughts did their trick and soon my hard-on was bulging against the leg of my cammies, causing the beginnings of a traffic jam. I knew it was tacky, but Piazza Trento isn´t exactly a Sunday school. Or so I thought.
Without a warning, a group of elementary school kids burst out from a door across the street, followed by their parents. Of all places, there is an oratorio in Piazza Trento, with late evening meetings on Sundays. You can call me a prude, but I don´t think that little kids and half-naked male prostitutes at work should cross paths very often. I wasn´t the only one present with a certain lack of conventional modesty either.
To my surprise, no one bat an eyelash, least of all the kids who couldn´t have cared less. While their parents discussed the details of the next church meeting, the kids laughed and chattered among themselves, oblivious to two shirtless muscleboys passing through their group.
So I followed the example set by the kids, and good-humouredly minded my own business. But I did keep my shirt buttoned up on Sundays after that, at least until bedtime.
It was a warm night, and to spur potential clients I unbuttoned my sleeveless flannel shirt to show off my pecs and abs, and contemplated the video I had watched earlier in the evening. The dirty thoughts did their trick and soon my hard-on was bulging against the leg of my cammies, causing the beginnings of a traffic jam. I knew it was tacky, but Piazza Trento isn´t exactly a Sunday school. Or so I thought.
Without a warning, a group of elementary school kids burst out from a door across the street, followed by their parents. Of all places, there is an oratorio in Piazza Trento, with late evening meetings on Sundays. You can call me a prude, but I don´t think that little kids and half-naked male prostitutes at work should cross paths very often. I wasn´t the only one present with a certain lack of conventional modesty either.
To my surprise, no one bat an eyelash, least of all the kids who couldn´t have cared less. While their parents discussed the details of the next church meeting, the kids laughed and chattered among themselves, oblivious to two shirtless muscleboys passing through their group.
So I followed the example set by the kids, and good-humouredly minded my own business. But I did keep my shirt buttoned up on Sundays after that, at least until bedtime.
Sunday, February 06, 2005
Musclehead scienz
At the gym today, in between sets, I amused myself reading the local version of "Gym&Fitness" magazine I found abandoned next to the leg press. It wasn´t such a bad magazine - well, there are never enough pics of hot men, are there? - but the science part seemed a little dubious.
The continuing free radicals scare, which sounds great but has never actually been proved scientifically, prompted them to tell us the following: "Turkish researchers have demonstrated that young swimmers who use extra vitamins daily show little sign of oxydizing reactions. This means that even young people need vitamin supplements to protect their organism." One can´t fight logic like that, can one?
There were a couple of questions that I couldn´t help pondering about, however. How did they find out? Were these young Turkish swimmers vivisected? Were slices then cut off from other young Turks who neither practiced swimming nor took vitamin supplements, to compare results? Not to mention some old Turks, just to make sure.
Perhaps they all belonged to the Kurdish minority, and the research was carried out by Turkish military forces.
Also, the only people I can think of who have little sign of oxydizing reactions are cadavers. It was all rather puzzling, so I focused on my next set.
After ten grueling reps, I re-emerged from the pek deck and made the mistake of continuing to read the article. I discovered that according to a research by a Texas University "...it´s better to take carbs and proteins after the workout, but the study also found that it they were taken before the workout the effect wasn´t reduced". Say again?
At that point, I resolved to give up on science and to focus solely on the pictures.
The continuing free radicals scare, which sounds great but has never actually been proved scientifically, prompted them to tell us the following: "Turkish researchers have demonstrated that young swimmers who use extra vitamins daily show little sign of oxydizing reactions. This means that even young people need vitamin supplements to protect their organism." One can´t fight logic like that, can one?
There were a couple of questions that I couldn´t help pondering about, however. How did they find out? Were these young Turkish swimmers vivisected? Were slices then cut off from other young Turks who neither practiced swimming nor took vitamin supplements, to compare results? Not to mention some old Turks, just to make sure.
Perhaps they all belonged to the Kurdish minority, and the research was carried out by Turkish military forces.
Also, the only people I can think of who have little sign of oxydizing reactions are cadavers. It was all rather puzzling, so I focused on my next set.
After ten grueling reps, I re-emerged from the pek deck and made the mistake of continuing to read the article. I discovered that according to a research by a Texas University "...it´s better to take carbs and proteins after the workout, but the study also found that it they were taken before the workout the effect wasn´t reduced". Say again?
At that point, I resolved to give up on science and to focus solely on the pictures.
Friday, February 04, 2005
Yes, I was a hustler
Until about a year ago, I worked as a hustler in Milan, Italy. To anyone out there considering this profession: choose Italy. The country is choke full of - pun intended - handsome bisexual married men, unburdened by Protestant rectitude. And if you choose Milan, you´ll inevitably end up working for some permanent fixtures on the pages of the Vogue magazine, which can be interesting.
For instance, one day I was watching the evening news on Silvio Berlusconi´s Canale 5 and there he was, one of my regular clients, kissing the hand of the Pope with the same pouty lips that only two days earlier had assumed quite a different function in my bed. Admittedly, the function was not all that different in principle, but a very different region of male anatomy was involved nevertheless.
I´m not dropping any names, mind you. That would be unprofessional, and lead into annyoing legal hassles. Besides, I´m not Paris Hilton, and the home movies that were made will not show up on the net as a proof since I don´t hold the copyright.
It´s not the Vogue crowd that makes the job so fascinating, however. If you´re in continuous pursuit for hot sex, gay saunas and perverted leather sex clubs aren´t the first places to go - although they will do. Instead, try hustling. When you´re sought out by a professional, suburban young dad whose pent up homosexual instincts have taken over, after weeks or months of straight day-to-day routine and covert peeks at the locker room of the gym, that´s when you realize how good sex can be. Take my advice: suburbs. That´s where it´s at.
For instance, one day I was watching the evening news on Silvio Berlusconi´s Canale 5 and there he was, one of my regular clients, kissing the hand of the Pope with the same pouty lips that only two days earlier had assumed quite a different function in my bed. Admittedly, the function was not all that different in principle, but a very different region of male anatomy was involved nevertheless.
I´m not dropping any names, mind you. That would be unprofessional, and lead into annyoing legal hassles. Besides, I´m not Paris Hilton, and the home movies that were made will not show up on the net as a proof since I don´t hold the copyright.
It´s not the Vogue crowd that makes the job so fascinating, however. If you´re in continuous pursuit for hot sex, gay saunas and perverted leather sex clubs aren´t the first places to go - although they will do. Instead, try hustling. When you´re sought out by a professional, suburban young dad whose pent up homosexual instincts have taken over, after weeks or months of straight day-to-day routine and covert peeks at the locker room of the gym, that´s when you realize how good sex can be. Take my advice: suburbs. That´s where it´s at.
Thursday, February 03, 2005
My ´roids
I´m waiting for the results of a special - and rather painful - blood test: I may finally be able to buy my ´roids legally, if the numbers come out right - or wrong, depending on the point of view. I really have to find a new boyfriend before starting the next cycle, though, or I´ll end up on some Beware These Sex Offenders! website, between an octogenarian groper and the official site merchandise banner. Yes, you read that one right: site merchandise. Wouldn´t you just love having your parents drink their coffee from STOP CHILD RAPE! mugs while you´re munching away your morning cereal?
Come to think of it, having my address published on the site might not be such a bad thing after all, as I have myself entertained the idea of dropping by certain hunky sex offenders listed on the pages. M4M4SEX is woefully lacking behind in this aspect; the authenticity of the photos isn´t proved by the local sheriff, which is sometimes painfully clear when you meet your latest on-line hookup.
Come to think of it, having my address published on the site might not be such a bad thing after all, as I have myself entertained the idea of dropping by certain hunky sex offenders listed on the pages. M4M4SEX is woefully lacking behind in this aspect; the authenticity of the photos isn´t proved by the local sheriff, which is sometimes painfully clear when you meet your latest on-line hookup.
Wednesday, February 02, 2005
A hustler´s nightmare
If you drive a silver convertible Alfa Romeo and live in Milan, Italy, please read on. That´s because I want you to know what an appalling person you are. A self-righteous client is hustler´s nightmare, even worse than the ones who call you pretending to make an appointment while masturbating frenetically, desperate to make it in time before they´re hung up on. That usually takes less than fifty seconds, so it is easy to understand why they sound so breathless.
Therefore, the next time you hire the services of a prostitute, please keep in mind the following: a) it´s very bad form to bicker about the agreed-upon price afterwards, especially if you drive an expensive convertible sports car, and b) it´s even worse to suddenly turn into a best friend after having finished haggling, and insist on giving all the necessary advice how to become a decent human being instead of a whore. You didn´t notice it, but it´s very hard to be civil in your company. The next time you come around my services will not be available.
Therefore, the next time you hire the services of a prostitute, please keep in mind the following: a) it´s very bad form to bicker about the agreed-upon price afterwards, especially if you drive an expensive convertible sports car, and b) it´s even worse to suddenly turn into a best friend after having finished haggling, and insist on giving all the necessary advice how to become a decent human being instead of a whore. You didn´t notice it, but it´s very hard to be civil in your company. The next time you come around my services will not be available.
The Whoring Hall Of Fame II: Mary Petain... no, I meant Cheney
Dear Mary, I´m very sorry about the mistake in the title. I don´t know what my pesky little subconscious was up to, so I googled the word Petain. If you do the same, I suggest you add key words World War II, France, Nazi, and collaborator to find the right match quicker. Then it´s up to you to judge the odd connections my subconscious seems to have made.
I´m so sorry if the the wanderings of my subconscius offend you. But I can´t really blame them. First you went to work for the viciously anti-gay, aspiring senator Pete Coors, to pitch his beer to none else but gays. When I worked as a street hustler I would probably have said yes, too, if he had stopped his car and asked me to service him. But then, I was a male prostitute and not the vice-president´s daughter.
Then you went to work to help re-elect the most venomously and self-servingly antigay administration in history. Perhaps that´s a little easier to understand, and to forgive. After all, your dad has a heart condition and sooner rather than later all the Halliburton blood money from Iraq will be inherited by someone, and that someone might just as well be you.
However, until that happens, you´re out of a job and I believe your marketability as a gay PR person to gay audiences may have deflated somewhat. Don´t worry. There will soon be job opportunities in Iraq, as lobbyists will be needed to help craft the new constitution. Your past efforts will surely be rewarded by a high-paying Constitutional Adviser position, where you can make sure the local people won´t disown the Middle Eastern tradition of beheading men caught practicing gay sex. It´ll be fun, too; I´m sure a ringside seat can be reserved for you to watch justice at work, once the new constitution is in place. Dare I ask for a favor? Please, send me some snapshots. Perhaps even signed by you?
To tell the truth, I greatly admire you, Mary. You´ve arrived at a level of whoredom I never managed to reach, despite my best efforts.
I´m so sorry if the the wanderings of my subconscius offend you. But I can´t really blame them. First you went to work for the viciously anti-gay, aspiring senator Pete Coors, to pitch his beer to none else but gays. When I worked as a street hustler I would probably have said yes, too, if he had stopped his car and asked me to service him. But then, I was a male prostitute and not the vice-president´s daughter.
Then you went to work to help re-elect the most venomously and self-servingly antigay administration in history. Perhaps that´s a little easier to understand, and to forgive. After all, your dad has a heart condition and sooner rather than later all the Halliburton blood money from Iraq will be inherited by someone, and that someone might just as well be you.
However, until that happens, you´re out of a job and I believe your marketability as a gay PR person to gay audiences may have deflated somewhat. Don´t worry. There will soon be job opportunities in Iraq, as lobbyists will be needed to help craft the new constitution. Your past efforts will surely be rewarded by a high-paying Constitutional Adviser position, where you can make sure the local people won´t disown the Middle Eastern tradition of beheading men caught practicing gay sex. It´ll be fun, too; I´m sure a ringside seat can be reserved for you to watch justice at work, once the new constitution is in place. Dare I ask for a favor? Please, send me some snapshots. Perhaps even signed by you?
To tell the truth, I greatly admire you, Mary. You´ve arrived at a level of whoredom I never managed to reach, despite my best efforts.
Kylie - torch your record company, please
I was perusing your website yesterday when I discovered that there were two of your songs that I still don´t have. There´s the dowloads section - great! I´ll have them in my iPod, pronto. So after a couple of clicks I discovered that I needed to follow these steps:
1) dowload the songs, with the necessary (but bearable) credit card hassle
2) since the files cannot be transferred to iPod (what?!) I must burn them on CD - with Windows Media Player because no other CD burning software will do (what?!)
3) use Apple iTunes to transfer the music from CD to my iPod.
What did I do? I´m sorry, Kylie, but I downloaded the songs from P2P, with no hassle and no time-consuming, completely unnecessary, and quite frankly stupid extra steps to follow. I feel bad about it, as it´s not fair to steal your music. However, the music company managers who came up with this procedure must think I´m really, really stupid. Did any of them go to a business school? I mean, even a gum-popping supermarket cashier could tell them that if you treat your clients as if they were idiots they may smile at you, even humor you with "Oh great, thank you", but they won´t be coming back.
I love you, Kylie, and I know you´re on the creative side of the business. But please try to do something about those managers.
Just now a terrible idea crept into my mind. Could this be Steve Jobs´ doing, with his newfangled aspiration to become a clone of Bill Gates, starting with restrictions on his iTunes? It´s too distasteful even to contemplate.
1) dowload the songs, with the necessary (but bearable) credit card hassle
2) since the files cannot be transferred to iPod (what?!) I must burn them on CD - with Windows Media Player because no other CD burning software will do (what?!)
3) use Apple iTunes to transfer the music from CD to my iPod.
What did I do? I´m sorry, Kylie, but I downloaded the songs from P2P, with no hassle and no time-consuming, completely unnecessary, and quite frankly stupid extra steps to follow. I feel bad about it, as it´s not fair to steal your music. However, the music company managers who came up with this procedure must think I´m really, really stupid. Did any of them go to a business school? I mean, even a gum-popping supermarket cashier could tell them that if you treat your clients as if they were idiots they may smile at you, even humor you with "Oh great, thank you", but they won´t be coming back.
I love you, Kylie, and I know you´re on the creative side of the business. But please try to do something about those managers.
Just now a terrible idea crept into my mind. Could this be Steve Jobs´ doing, with his newfangled aspiration to become a clone of Bill Gates, starting with restrictions on his iTunes? It´s too distasteful even to contemplate.
The Whoring Hall Of Fame I: Jeffrey Scheider
Given my personal interest in everything meretricious, I´ve decided to start a new installment whose name is, I believe, self-explanatory. The honor to start the series belongs to Jeffrey Schneider, the out gay news media relations vice president of the ABC television company. He offered the following explanation to the Advocate magazine, when asked about the tabloid television "documentary" which attempted to reveal that the torture and killing of Matthew Shepard wasn´t a hate crime.
"You can be sure that in every story we do, we maintain very high standards and have great respect for the ethics of journalism. And I can see nothing about this report that gives me pause with regard to those questions."
Don´t worry, John. You have all my sympathy. I know personally from my street hustling days how important it is to say yes to people who pay your bills.
"You can be sure that in every story we do, we maintain very high standards and have great respect for the ethics of journalism. And I can see nothing about this report that gives me pause with regard to those questions."
Don´t worry, John. You have all my sympathy. I know personally from my street hustling days how important it is to say yes to people who pay your bills.
Strange love in the Pentagon
Despite their genius, I believe neither Stanley Kubrick nor Chi Chi LaRue could have come up with the super idea included in the recently declassified Pentagon documents dating 1994. At the time, development of a group of non-lethal chemical weapons was considered, including an "aphrodisiac" weapon that would make the enemy soldiers sexually irresistible to each other. I can´t help but imagine the employment of such a weapon - in great detail. It makes me wish Pentagon declared war against Italy, Brazil and Sweden.
Move over, Christiane Amanpour! You´d face some serious competion as the world´s most famous war corrispondent. And if you managed to cling to your job - after all, there would be no longer safety issues for you while reporting live from the frontline -, I´d have no choice but to enlist as a volunteer in the Italian armed forces.
The possibilities would be endless. Imagine sending a cruise missile loaded with the Stryker gas to Rio de Janeiro. Or Saddam Hussein having concocted the mix, and blasting Miami with it. The weapon would be powerless against the Vatican, however, as neither the Swiss Guard nor the Monsignors would notice anything unusual taking place.
Sadly, the plan was discarded. Perhaps someone in the Pentagon was reminded of the Army of Lovers. Not the Swedish pop group, admittedly a thing to remember as well, but the invincible ancient Greek army formed of homosexual males who would fight till death to protect their partner and not to dishonor themselves in the eyes of their lovers. That would never happen in West Hollywood, but if a less sophisticated people were attacked the results might be unpredictable.
Furthermore, the Pentagon was probably worried that the wind might abruptly change direction during combat and make the precious "don´t ask, don´t tell" policy the only casualty.
At the gym today
I´m sure you´ve all noticed the Adidas, Nike and Isostar energy bottles people keep dragging around at the gym near you. I´m sure you´ve also noticed that the bottles look like exact replicas of thick, sturdy penises. It couldn´t escape anyone´s notice, yet all the guys just love them.
Well, not all of them. There was one straight guy at the gym today, and he was straight. Instead of carrying around yet another penis bottle, he drank tap water from a container for car antifreeze. I thought that was really cool. I also wondered what I´d do if he asked me for a cup of coffee in his place. Would take a chance with the rest of his crockery? You guessed the answer.
Well, not all of them. There was one straight guy at the gym today, and he was straight. Instead of carrying around yet another penis bottle, he drank tap water from a container for car antifreeze. I thought that was really cool. I also wondered what I´d do if he asked me for a cup of coffee in his place. Would take a chance with the rest of his crockery? You guessed the answer.
Please, Jodie Foster
I have a plea for you. Please make another movie where you appear as stunningly beautiful as in your evening gown in "Contact". My hope is that the sight will consequently prompt some deranged male - or female - to give another try at shooting the president just to catch your attention.
However, please note that I absolutely do not approve of assassination, even in the case of most heinous individuals, and that it is not what I´m hoping for with my plea.
Instead, a buttock wound similar to Goldie Hawn´s in "Protocol" would work for everyone´s advantage: the president would have a nice, long vacation and a legitimate excuse for a relapse into drug abuse, while the world would be given a little time to catch its breath. Besides, the president looks like someone nice enough to have around at the ranch, which would make Laura happy. They could have Rush Limbaugh over for the weekend, swap some pills, and come up with a new vision for America.
Please, Jodie - you have done it once, and you can do it again.
Please, Jodie - you have done it once, and you can do it again.
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