Keep the pecker in the pants – or hire a bodyguard. That’s the moral of this Washington tale.

We begin with an Ode to the Imperiled Penis by one of our favorite wags, Vanity Fair editor James Wolcott

“You know, a penis is more than a phallic symbol made flesh,” rhapsodizes Wolcott. “It’s a warm, life-sized attachment that serves a number of utilitarian purposes, too, and over time develops its own wry personality and quirks, or so it can seem to its owner.

“Hence I suspect a lot of men will wince in sympathy at the prospect of the firm yet tender bond between Senator David Vitter and his penis being rudely severed by his vengeful wife. Nothing sends a shudder through the locker room faster than the bladed gleam of castration.”

Thus begins Wolcott’s hilarious meditation on the latest vice scandal to rock the Republican side of the aisle in Washington. Of course you’ve heard by now of Louisiana Senator David Vitter, charter member of the Bedroom Police and Defender of Marriage from Homosexuals, who was caught with his pants down.

Everyone with a TV has seen his boyish, if somewhat overfed, carb-face mouthing meas-culpas after his name turned up in a D.C. madame’s phone log, as well as on the client list of several New Orleans’ joy girls. And you also saw his wife standing beside him, looking mildly insane, like a starey-eyed Allison Janney, in that honky-tonk what-the-fuck-was-she-thinking jungle-print dress (shouldn’t they both have been in sack and ashes?) (more…)

Prepare to cry, moan and come!

Presenting the This is Me Series. Starring our newest online discovery.

All we know is that male926, as he calls himself, lives in the United Kingdom, is 30 years old and only started posting his lovely love affair with himself this June. He lists his interests as fitness and bodybuilding.

Oddly, he leaves out smoking, which apparently gives him — and certainly us — a big ol’ chubby.

Behold: (more…)

His Xbox gamertag is spunkymonkey — which frankly tells us all we need to know.

But that doesn’t stop Abe from going on in an adorable rosy-faced way about how many levels he’s achieved in Oblivion….

Or the hordes of Locust slime he’s whacked in Gears of War …

Or the spin-out turn he mastered for Project Gotham Racing 3 to win the near-impossible platinum trophy (”much more rad than gold“) on the wicked, twisty Nürburgring track.

Yes, we concede , he does have major gamer creds. He is big in the virtual world.

Still…

It’s how he’s doing down here on the ol’ physical plane that we most want to get…mmm-hmm … behind.

Plus, we note, eyeing his butterfly-shaped Xbox controller with its array of buttons, bumpers and triggers, all that expert game play must have developed his tactile skills to a godlike degree.

Abe blushes because like all gamers he watches Heroes and has been waiting his whole happy life for someone to recognize his inner Superboy. Then he offers to give us a demonstration. We utter a little gasp of hallelujah but make one teeny suggestion.

His fingers of fury, we remark, are as articulated now as the hands of a pianist. The hand-eye coordination is as devastating as that of a brain surgeon. Why waste them on a dinky old Xbox controller? Couldn’t he instead…?

He follows the downward gaze of our eyes. Then: big smile

Sure, says Abe.

Great, says we. You’re on, babe. Beautiful Abe.

And thus, another day getting the pictures and videos you want and you need, faithful reader. Just journalists doing our job. No Pulitzers necessary.

All playing now at the Cruiser Boys Theater in the Inner Circle.

(MEMBERS / non-MEMBERS take a free tour)

Whatever Happened To John McCain?

As the reigning Baby Jane of the already creepy line up of Republican Presidential candidates, the snow-topped, fire hydrant-bodied septuagenarian is now dancing on the sand as the tide washes away all of his presidential dreams and his campaign dies of sunstroke.

His poll numbers have plummeted. His public image is like a battered pinata. The Straight Talk Bus is wrapped around a tree and engulfed in flames. Only one thing could’ve caused a one-time favorite to fall so far: the debilitating form of unintentional career suicide that is … (wait for it) … gay sweaters!

That’s right. Bad sartorial advice from his advisors is to blame. At least in his mind. With campaign momentum dwindling and his fundraising in the red, McCain has reportedly gone off on an all-out diatribe that culminated with the Arizona senator accusing his staff of forcing him to don gay-looking sweaters in the hopes of making him seem like less of a relic.

Now McCain is lamenting the loss of his rugged appeal thanks to those infernal V-Necks with their subliminal homosexual vibes. Admittedly, his attire has been something of a running joke recently, but now even his own staff is wondering whether late-life dementia and megalomaniacal paranoia are taking their toll on him. Has he finally flipped? (more…)

Maybe the season’s higher temperature has some magical effect on the already steamy confines of the locker room.

Or perhaps it’s down to astrology. Those two full moons in June might have released a crazy-making lunar juju into the atmosphere — making guys do things they normally wouldn’t do (with other guys).

Regardless, these casual snapshots tell the entire story: (more…)

In the dawn-tinted Parthenon of awful gay movies, Cruising stands alone. It doesn’t merely backfire; it backfires brilliantly.

So it is with mixed emotions (two parts joy, three parts delirium) that we turn our gaze on September 18 when this anti-classic will be released finally on DVD in its shameless uncut glory (with restored scenes never released) — and even better in hi-def, so you can catch all the undulating male bodies in the background of its bar scenes where, according to the movie’s fantastical conceit, everyone is always in some state of fuck or suck.

Cruising was certainly a shocker in its day. The 1980 thriller is set in the night-world of New York’s orgiastic backrooms, peepshows and open-air fuck-fests that ran 24/7 in the bushes of Central Park. A then hot and nasty Al Pacino goes undercover to attract a serial killer, decoying himself as a hungry bottom in wife-beaters and low-slung jeans. The killer, meanwhile, a lanky, long-torsoed lad whose face is always concealed, is shown tricking and then killing his bound-up S&M partners — a sort of buyer’s remorse we usually associate with the black widow spider — ever whispering in his victim’s ear the moronic catchphrase “You made me do that.” (more…)

Ever wonder why men don’t lock eyes unless they’re going to fight … or fuck?

Or why adolescent boys leave empty seats between them when they go to the movies?

That is the burning question today over on AlterNet, kicking off a long and ponderous meditation on manhood by a professor of American culture. The essay’s title: Don’t Look Gay: Why American Men Are Afraid of Intimacy with Each Other

Yes, we’ve made this trip before — many times before –but let’s strap ourselves in for one more thrill-packed, hands-in-the-air go-round on the Cyclone, that splintery old roller coaster of cultural frettings over men who just can’t handle heavy duty man-on-man, dick-in-ass action — the wimps! … and definitely not our kind, darling.

“On Saturday afternoon at the Cineplex you can see them: adolescent boys, there to watch one of the action films that Hollywood makes with an audience of young males in mind,” begins John Ibson, who teaches courses on male sexuality at Cal State Fullerton. “What’s distinctive is where the boys sit in the theater. Though they might’ve come to the movie together and might even be close friends, they’ll leave an empty seat between them.” (more…)

It’s Not Easy Being Green

Hunky protester Josh Brown, a member of the Climate Change Ski Team, being arrested after he ran up to Australian prime minister John Howard and demanded to know what the leader was doing about global warming. “There’s no snow, no snow,” cried the distraught Speedo-wearing beauty as he was hauled away. July in Australia is mid-winter.

hattip to Nightcharm reader Stephen Rader, who dubbed Brown “My New Imaginary Boyfriend.”