Aries: With the moon in your mother’s water house, it is going to be important for you to really cut back on junk food and soda pop this week unless you want to inherit your genetic destiny on an immediate basis.

Taurus: Here’s an interesting recipe for your period of extended abstinence.

You’ll need: two jumbo eggs, flour, wheat germ, baking soda, table salt, traffic jam, diced cheese substitute, and lots of pepper.

Whisk in a shallow Pyrex roasting pan and microwave on high for fifteen minutes. Severe. That’s French for “Serve.”

Gemini: God damn it, you are exhausting everyone with your constant nagging and bad ideas. This is a time in which you need to second-guess everything that comes out of your mouth, though even that probably won’t be enough to counteract the permanent damage you’re doing to your public image.

Cancer: You are in a tender state this week, and will need to be babied by everyone around you. Let the people you deal with at home and work know that this is a time in which things are going to be very focused around you and what you feel is important. Ice cream is your weekly color. For now, just sit down. (more…)

It’s been two weeks since we checked in with Celebrity Psychic, Miranda Celeste-Walters, about the inner worlds of Hollywood’s hottest studs. We needed our fix, so we called her direct line to ask for a personal peek into the daily dalliances of heartthrob, Pierce Brosnan. Here’s the revealing interview that transpired:

Nightcharm: So what can you tell us about Pierce?

Miranda Celeste-Walters: I can tell you that he’s eating a lot of crackers these days, and I don’t know why. (laughs) I’ve just been feeling this from him. These could be health-oriented crackers.

NC: So more likely, these are Triscuits and not Cheese Nips?

MCW: Well, if you compare the nutritional data of Triscuits versus Cheese Nips, you’re going to find a lot of the same things. You’re going to be shocked at how similar they really are. We’re only talking about a 30 calorie difference, per serving, for instance. These crackers, for Pierce, are not Triscuits or Cheese Nips. Maybe Vegetable Thins. (more…)

News of the verdict exploded across the Net like a Peter North money shot:
Italy’s highest court ruled last week that a 42-year-old workman broke the law by “ostentatiously touching his genitals through his clothing” and must pay a fine.

The fact that this decision was handed down in Italy — a country that has fostered phallic veneration and worship for centuries — seemed absurd. As Slate pointed out today: “The crotch grab goes back at least to the pre-Christian Roman era…”

Yes, long before Marky (Mark) Wahlberg was pawing his jewels for Calvin Klein or Michael Jackson was proving his manhood by repeatedly cupping his tackle, Italian men were doing corno (the bulge grab) to conjure protection and good luck around their person.

What is it about the male crotch that generates so much self-touching? (We love questions like this). Slate tells us even (more…)

It was a spring day, a day, a day for a lay when the air
Smelled like a locker-room, a day to blow or get blown.
Returning from lunch I turned my corner and there
On a near-by stoop I saw him standing alone.

I glanced as I advanced.
The clean white T-shirt outlined
A forceful torso, the light-blue denims divulged
Much.

I observed the snug curves where they hugged the behind,
I watched the crotch where the cloth intriguingly bulged.
Our eyes met, I felt sick.
My knees turned weak. I couldn’t move.
I didn’t know what to say. (more…)

“One of my favorite hangouts was The Follies. There were so many closeted neocons who trolled for cock and ass there, particularly cock and ass on younger men…

“One of them I would later recognize as Larry Craig. I followed him …to a Capitol Hill neighborhood.. We walked up the alley and through the back door of a house, with him repeating several times, ‘You were never here. You don’t know me. Right?’ and me responding, ‘Right!’ in boyish submission…Then, he stripped naked and asked me to suck him. I complied for a while, then he disappeared and returned with lube and a condom to fuck me with. It was a clumsy and unremarkable fuck…Still, he blew his load, ripped the dirty condom off and ordered me to get dressed without wiping myself…

“As he reached for the door, he took a $20 bill from his wallet, shoved it in my front pocket, adding ‘Remember, I can buy and sell your ass ten thousand times over. You were never here. Don’t try to come back here. You don’t know me.’”

“Snow and Stiffler were angry that they had been having sex with a man — when they thought they were having sex with a 12-year-old, authorities said.”

“Sorry, but I was impressed. In the year’s most psychotic media moment, Britney created something more real than reality TV: entertainment without borders, an unconsciously brilliant deconstruction of American Idolism, a disintegration in slo-mo. You could almost call it art.”

(more…)

Big boys and Christmas!

Tis the season when Bears go wild.

Maybe it’s because they’re such hunks of funk –between the beards and the cigars and the barrel chests. Maybe it’s because they’re so obviously loaded with testosterone.

But when Bears let go, they really let it ride, all of it.

At left we have the classic Bear in his excellence, photographed by Bearfighter, who specializes in the Bears of Europe. The Christmas Tree and While House are courtesy of Nightcharm, of course, and Photoshop.

Certainly this gruff-looking number is the dream Bear, with each aesthetic nuance calibrated just right. Natch, he’s uncut, being a Frenchman. Would a dream Bear be any other way?

All well and good for the Bear in Babeland, for the perfect Bear who is at one with Plato’s eternal forms. But what happens in the wilder woods of the real world? After that one eggnog too many? When our Bear is big enough and bold enough? When he’s too legit to quit? (more…)

Fabulicious is the only word in our arsenal of demented gay superlatives to describe it.

And no, it’s not that Jodie Foster may or may not have just come out — stunned and shaken as we would be by such an announcement.

Nor is it the national confusion we’re all going through trying to keep the Petersons straight: Is it Stacy or Laci who is the current missing, presumed dead wife? Is it Drew or Scott — both stud-muffin names — who is the despicable, unlovable, unredeemable rascal in the windowless cell on death row that we’d love to fuck anyway?

Even the announcement of the Golden Globe nominations this morning — the most deeply meaningless trophies in show business – are not what’s making us crazy right now — though we are overjoyed to see that Keira Knightly is finally getting her due as the greatest actress of our time — a status once held in a long ago Hollywood by that delightful (but forgotten — why, why, why?) minx, Pia (with a Z) Zadora!

What has made us dig to the bottom of our dementia bag to come up with the rare gem fabulicious is the current collision between East and West that is gushing forth rivers of kitsch in the most nutso campaign video ( what!) ever. Put on your dazzle glasses, boys, because Christmas has come a little early this year: (more…)

The straight takeover of San Francisco was made all too clear last month when Castro Street had to cancel its annual Halloween parade.

And if you examine the photo at left you’ll understand why. Yes, it’s a gay bar. And yes, it’s crammed wall-to wall with straight people

“The Glindas, gladiators and harem boys of the Castro — along with untold numbers who plan to dress up as Senator Larry E. Craig, this year’s camp celebrity — will be celebrating behind closed doors,” reported the New York Times, citing the decision to disband the parade as a wrenching moment of “soul-searching” that struck “a blow at the heart of neighborhood identity.”

It is a decision that is coming to symbolize the dismantling of the great gay ghettos throughout America — what the press used to call “Gay Meccas,” those insular enclaves where men could walk down the street carelessly holding hands, or slobber over each other in the hellish light coming from some leather bar as they made out on the sidewalk. (A world lovingly imagined — but wildly, cartoonishly overdrawn — in the American version of Queer as Folk, below) (more…)