Can I hate a gay for being feminine? Yes. No. That would be wrong.

Can I hate a gay for being altogether creepy? Heck yeah. Welcome to teh infraweb.

Okay, I don’t hate Jack Mackenroth, the designer whose vague and teary-eyed departure from Project Runway was kinda sad, but mostly confusing. He’s had HIV for 17 years and claims to be in perfect health, but his exit from the show was a result of what looked like a painful infection clearly emphasized the reasons to never ever visit a plastic surgeon (srsly, waxed brows and curled lashes are one thing, but his enhanced cheekbones and hollowed-out eyes are nightmarish and …predictably sought-after in Chelsea’s gay ghetto).

Anyway, this isn’t an extremely late post about a months-old ProjRun episode (leave that to the experts) or a meditation on Jack’s mild appeal via his utter weirdness. Rather, I came across this treasure (which has since been flagged) on Craigslist, an ad that doesn’t quite purport to do anything but directly offend Mackenroth in a somehow more retarded pidgeon-y LOLtalk. Read More!

I’ve always had a problem going out. Despite my being positive that most, like me, wouldn’t dare approach others at a party or bar (or in a public setting, for that matter), I think I’ve been proven wrong. Usually aided with loads more alcohol than I consume, gay guys at the few bars I frequent seem to have little to no trouble making light conversation with others. I, on the other hand, am so self-conscious, so ready to edit my words and actions at a moment’s notice, that the idea of making small talk with a dude (sober or not) is so clearly an unnatural, put-upon facade meant to get one’s number [or tushy], I can’t fathom that either parties would tolerate such silliness.

Apparently, I’m wrong. Read More!

Before there was Stewie, there was Runt Page.

To all future screenwriters planning to pen a script involving babies who talk like adults, this is your Apocolypse Now.

To everyone else who thinks chatty infants are awesome, you’re welcome.

The Gray Lady took a trip to Williamsburg recently to spill the beans on what gay male hipsters do:

• Bump
• Grind
• Repeat
• Grow beards
• Wear cowboy boots and Converse sneakers
• Have money
• Like Britney Spears (ironically…?)
• Talk like girls who talk like babies
• Be generally icky

…Yeah, that’s about right.

Bump. Grind. Repeat. [NYT]

Photo by Willie Davis/Veras via villagevoice.com

As a “comedian” (which, I realize, is as gross as it sounds on paper as it does verbally), I have very specific taste when devoting my patronage to a comedian or - better yet - “distant protege.” To me, figures like David Cross, Michael Showalter, Dave Hill, and Patton Oswalt are the ones to watch: experimental, progressive mastheads of the alternative-comedy scene whose respective abilities to play with the medium has allowed for slow-to-build sea changes in domestic humor at large (see Flight of the Conchords, Adult Swim, and The Sarah Silverman Show).

And yet, poor taste prevails. Nevertheless, despite the continued presence of talentless blowhards like Carlos Mencia, Dane Cook, and anybody associated with Last Comic Standing (Ralphie May is totes fat, LOL!), there remains a prominent gap between the alternative and the mainstream into which more offbeat comedians fit. And more often than not, these performers have the ability to still attract a wide audience which can, in fact, lead to a special on premium cable (which is nothing to scoff at, either). Whether you find them funny or not, you are very likely to recognize names like Jeffrey Ross (snarky humor), Lisa Lampanelli (bawdy humor), and Paula Poundstone (cat humor).

When it comes to gay comics or “gay comedy,” I usually have to turn away. Much like material based on race or religion, “gay humor” is - in my opinion - boring and cheap. (You are a man who dates men, and sometimes the dates don’t work out well? What the WHAT?!) Hearing a gay comic give their takes on the unmistakably predictable attributes that affect daily life as a result of sexual preference become just as predictable as the hetero comics who sputter similar garbage, except that the gay comic usually feels compelled to pander to the audience, throwing “sassies” about blow jobs, meth binges, and Jake Gyllenhaal into the curriculum vitae.

Now, however, we’ve gone one step further. Gay comedy has become a tool of the outsider, used, in fact, to build a gay niche. Read More!

Richard Gere had the gerbil-butt.

Rod Stewart had the cummy-tummy.

I now present to you, in gory detail, the newest, brightest, and most disturbing celebrity myth I’ve ever heard!

Read More!

Two things I’m not into:

1. Musical theater queerbombs

2. Musical theater queerbombs who wear “funky hats”

Today, however, I make an exception:

As I neared the end of the workday, I realized I had an open window of time before I was to meet up with friends later that evening. It being frigid outside, what better way to kill an hour than with what the words of my smoldering middle school health teacher, Mr. Veit, called “sexual intercourse”? (Though I don’t necessarily recall him including “with strangers” at the end.)

I checked the list of my good friend Craig, and started to play e-mail tag with a particularly handsome gentleman with an ass so taut, it might as well have been made of two bulbous light bulbs. After visually verifying that he had the same commanding body and facial structure as a young, crisply tanned Armand Assante, my penis and I agreed that “B” was our guy.

Read More!