It’s an archetypal tale, really: A shy and subdued guy, Anthony (pronounced An-Tony) didn’t break free of his inhibitions until an innocent gesture by his college sweetheart turned his world upside down. Was it love that coaxed the genie forth? Nope. A microphone! (read the full article)

Though over 30 years have passed, certain movies from the free-for-all Sixties remain fresh and full of surprises. Fellini Satyricon is one of them, a truly homo-drenched version of Nero’s Rome. (read the full article)

"It’s more than magnificent. It’s mediocre."
                                                                        – Samuel Goldwyn

With Scott Savol’s exit from American Idol last week, fans are left to the mercy of the banal, the branded and the boring. Things are so bad that Anthony Fedorov now stands out — though not in a good way. With one of the most brazenly schmaltzy, Euro-pop voices to ever reach the top-five Idol slots, Fedorov never fails to deal me a freakishly uncomfortable aural experience. When I hear Anthony go off in song I envision a troupe of moon-eyed Keane urchins straggling across the field of my inner eye. It’s truly soul killing. (read the full article)

I go willing down the Bread and Circus-like path that is all things American Idol. I watch for the same reasons you do. The high kitsch. The thrill of competion. The drunken shouts at the telelvison. (read the full article)

The oddsmakers in Vegas are flummoxed this morning.

The sure thing that was Constantine Maroulis, the 20-to-1 Boy Most Likely, was sent home last night in the most violent upheaval to hit the fans of American Idol since Mario Vasquez vanished in the night “for family reasons” and went racing to the bedside of his perfectly healthy, totally mystified mother. Watching it all from behind flat, dead eyes was Scott Savol, the unsmiling and overweight contestant who has for the last several weeks stood at the brink of dismissal with the bottom three vote-getters and somehow walked away, as he did last night, to everyone’s amazement. (read the full article)

Our latest update in the Inner Circle’s SexGayme’s video trove is the wildly controversial film The Passion Of The… — oh, sorry — wrong Aussie production — this one’s titled Filthy Four-Way, and it features some of Sydney’s randiest, most priapism-plagued actors. Watch in breath-stopping amazement as Tony, Clinton, Benji and Hamish administer an array of libationary love potions (and penetrating pokes) to their gym-sore bodies.

Soap bubbles flicker and froth. Lights vibrate and dim. Earthquakes quiver and …uhm…quake! Yes, both sacred (and profane) moments abound — especially when the film’s sacrificial power-bottom Benji takes center stage — Benji’s crazy reaming may not save the Earth from Jehovah’s wrath, but his elastic hole offers carnal salvation to degenerates worldwide.

Oy! we’re exhausted just writing about it. But keep the faith, dear ones — entre to this miraculous event is just a click away:

(MEMBERS / non-MEMBERS)

"I once took part in an orgy like the ones I draw," says French-Canadian illustrator Patrick Fillion, whose Class Comics has been delivering rock-hard cock and ripped physiques to Superhero fans for the last three years. "But I decided I was more into the 1-on-1 stuff than the 1-on-5." (read the full article)

We hear that the increasingly sci-fi Star Jones confided to the coffee-klatch audience of The View that were she ever to end up in Terri Schiavo La-La Land, she has a living will that instructs doctors NOT to unplug any plugs or remove any damn feeding tubes, thank you very much.

Being a devout Christian gal, who offered tips on "Christian dating" in a recent book and subsequently married a very pretty mocha-colored Christian man (who has allegedly been known to fall to his knees in trembling paroxysms of prayer while ministering to the wayward homosexuals of Fire Island), Star is a vocal advocate for the "culture of life" — her own. (read the full article)