You’re going to heaven, bitch!

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There’s always a modicum of truth in humor.

Remember when the showbiz satire site Dateline: Hollywood “reported” that 2006′s homo-hot gladiator movie 300 was the “first gay porn movie to gross over 70 million dollars”?

We do. We laughed really hard. Almost as hard as when that same site’s front page screamed out: BRITNEY SPEARS ANNOUNCES PLANS TO EXPOSE ANUS!!

But back to the 300 lampoonery. Dateline: Hollywood’s pseudo feature on the film featured an “interview” with Don Fanaras, one of the film’s “producers.” Mr. Fanaras revealed how 300‘s core audience was “mostly men who are in denial that they are attracted to other men.” (read the full article)

Taylor’s playlist will surprise you. First, consider the obvious: Linkin Park. Nickelback. Puddle of Mud. Frat guy favorites.

But then the headscratchin’ begins: Michael Buble. Acoustic Alchemy and Bebel Gilberto. Hmmm.

Finally, spin the wheel and you’ll land on the gold — just what you were hoping to find: Kylie Minogue. Miquel Brown. Ari Gold and Dusty Springfield. Dusty? Wow. We’re really in love now.

As Nietzsche noted: “God gave us music so that we, first and foremost, will be guided upward by it.”

This seems particularly true for Taylor. His music inspires, excites, makes him go flush and then — grinding hard — deliver a ceiling-blowing cum shot. For the cameras no less! (read the full article)

Nightcharm: Hi Daniel. It’s Nightcharm calling.

Daniel Nardicio: Your timing is impeccable. I’m shopping right now.

Nightcharm: What are you shopping for?

Daniel: I’m at Michael Fina‘s which is pretty upscale. I’m looking at diamonds. I’m not actually going to buy diamonds nor do I wear diamonds but I like looking at them.

Nightcharm: I think I recall a picture of you having something to do with diamonds somehow.

Daniel: Really?

Nightcharm: I don’t know for sure. It seemed like maybe you had diamonds in your teeth, or you were wearing an enormous diamond necklace or something? (read the full article)

Just how far should two guys go?

This story is so old there was probably a version of it unearthed with the Dead Sea scrolls.

Two guys, lots of kicking back, some beer (actually a couple of six-packs worth), a bowl of Funyuns, ESPAN blaring in the background — and then the proverbial offer: “How ’bout a neck massage, dude?”

Jump cut.

Piles of clothing litter the floor. The dog crying at the door to be let back in. The aftereffects of a not-so-good blow job and then … someone has the idea to do a little rimming. (read the full article)

What to wear for Gay Pride?

Drag and leather are classic, of course. But our favorite look has always been as nude as possible. As chest rippling and ass-out as the law allows.

And each year, God bless ‘em, all the new models come out, showing off their baby-oiled bods and a winter’s worth of crunches, squats and NFL-strength steroids.

Still, not all of us are content with traditional.

Back in the day, when Gay Pride was more march, than parade, the spirit of protest was in the air and everywhere. Laughing in the face of enforced heterosexualism and defying the pearl-clutching propriety of those uptight and always mortified closet cases who imagined they were passing or fooling anyone — yes, that was the fire that lit up a thousand floats.

And you know? Look around. Everywhere your hear the sound of marching, charging feet, boy. Cause summer’s here and the time is right for fighting in the street, boy

And so we draw our inspiration and revolutionary costume this June from that S-T-A-U-N-C-H madwomen of the Hamptons, that lifelong debutante who had a way with any old rag wrapped around her head and fastened with a diamond broach, Edie Beale, as recreated by Christine Ebersole (to righteous Tony- winning acclaim) in the current Broadway musical, Grey Gardens. (read the full article)

My body, my shame.

Modern life has become a funhouse mirror in which our selves are grotesquely reflected back, the more warped the closer we look. Cheekbones aren’t high enough, abs aren’t defined enough, skin isn’t lustrous enough.

Worse yet, our bodies just seem broken down if you trust what TV is telling you.

In 2007, if you don’t have restless legs or sleep apnea, then panic attacks or Chronic Fatigue are taking their toll on you. Even if you manage to dodge those bullets, who doesn’t exhibit symptoms of Social Anxiety Disorder? It’s a Cronenberg dystopia wherein even if our bodies aren’t actually medically failing us, we fear on some emotional level that they must be.

Enter the latest shame-based syndrome: SPS, Small Penis Syndrome.

Its street name is “the locker room syndrome”. Fitting that this disorder is rooted in childhood trauma since experts are positing that’s when men’s insecurity regarding their physical sexual identity begins.

Now the subject of a comprehensive UK-based research project conducted by urologists at the Hallamshire Hospital Porterback Clinic, we’re left to anticipate the potential profits the pharmaceutical industry can reap by targeting male insecurity on a whole new level. (read the full article)

Justin likes the meat game. Actually, as he says here: “I love it!” (read the full article)

“Arcing ropes of jism.” How could I not open my song of praise to Queens of the Stone Age’s Josh Homme and not feature that description? I had to work it in somehow.

Sure, flying jism is a visual you’d associate with a porn site — but not a Joe Cocker song. And yet that’s the way Homme — the sexy and smart frontdude for the Queens — describes his reaction to a certain snare drum sound that he’s been “chasing” (to mimic and record) ever since he heard it on the Cocker tune.

The jism quote was featured in a recent Pitchfork interview that celebrates the release of the Queen’s exhilarating new album Era Vulgaris.

The title is Latin for “common era.” But don’t take that as an arty snub against our culture’s Last Days cluster fuck. Homme enjoys the times we’re all wallowing in, and considers the current zeitgeist a character building challenge — or as he puts it: (read the full article)

Every American must do his duty to restore the goodwill and love of our European friends.

Yes, campers, there will be life after George Bush!

The birds will again sing. The gloryholes will open. The baths will gush forth. San Francisco will become affordable. And Cher will make a comeback.

All will be right again in this crazy ol’ world of ours.

One American — and oh, we applaud him — is leading the way.

One American, unknown and unsung. And completely undressed.

May he not be too far ahead of his time!

First Germany, tomorrow the world!
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