Only two highly symbolic locales ever seem to be perpetually invoked to embody the disparities of our fiscal meltdown: Main Street and Wall Street.

Are Andy and Opie Taylor having to ally with those hillbilly moonshiners in order to continue to afford their fishing lures, and is Patrick Bateman’s Amex Gold Card being refused when he tries to order a coterie of high-end escorts after killing his accountant with a power drill?

But what about Easy Street in Pornopolis? Does no one care about the sacrifices and indignities our favorite gay porn gods have had to endure in a sharp and jagged downturn?

Gay porn is really a subsidiary of the male escort/sex worker scene, lucrative in its own right, but still mainly functioning as a virtual PR firm and calling card for the sex brokers. Long-believed to be recession-proof along with other “vice”-related industries, even All-Male Action has taken a serious hit in the past two years. Revenues not just for DVD and magazine sales are down, but so are the returns for Web-based smut and the dancing circuit. Many is the urban escort who’s resigned himself to turning fewer high-roller tricks in favor of a more economy class clientele, and personal training and/or massage therapy bullet points are not necessarily placed in ironic quotations in resumes anymore. A top-tier star’s name and face just don’t ring up the dollar signs like they did five years ago. (read the full article)

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. (read the full article)

As much as we genuinely care that “Heather Graham got a Methven Satinjet shower head at the Michael Jordan Invitational on January 17 in the Bahamas,” we feel that the tabloids aren’t really keeping us adequately up to date on the down-and-dirty with regards to our favorite gay icons. We barely know a thing.

That’s why we’ve invited Celebrity Psychic, Miranda Celeste-Walters (right), to give us her unique insight into the sexual shenanigans of five prominent gay heartthrobs, and more specifically, why you may or may not want to sleep with them as much as you think you do.

Tom Ford: This looks like good sex, but I’m receiving something else. There’s a note below the surface here, and it has to do with childhood loss, and an overdeveloped sense of responsibility. This would not be good sex. I’m seeing antibacterial hand cleanser in almost every room, and also in the car. There is anger associated with shoes as well. Stay away from the shoes.

Elijah Wood: Very pleasant, but needy in ways that would not be immediately visible. There would be a lot of phone calls, and that could be good or that could be bad. Elijah writes angry emails. He doesn’t make a lot of sense. In the throes of sex, his voice is going to be higher than you’d expect. If you find yourself at odds with this delicate man, I recommend gifts of cheese.

(read the full article)

Types. Everyone has one. Everyone is one.

The Boy Next Door. The Dreamboat. Mr. Right. Mr. Vain. Big, Dumb and Slutty. Every cliche exists in life. Some lose ground and become merely quaint. Others gather stream and become iconic. The It Type of the moment: Douchebags. They’re everywhere and this emerging new type is easy to nail but hard to nail down. Not soulful, tortured or cool enough to be true Bad Boys and too oversexed to be geeks, it seems to be sheer unwarranted self-belief in all-consuming ego that drives then. Hollywood — the lodestar of all that we love and loathe sexually — is churning these dipwads out by the bucketful. With a sea of Summer’s Eve to wade through, how ever does one choose the pioneers?

Now, for your pleasure and edification, the definitive Top Ten Guide to the Douchebag Pantheon featuring a dazzling array of deluded D-bags not soon forgotten:

10. Wilmer Valderrama: Fun-Sized Douche

Like technically hot-from-the-neck down Dax Shepard and Sean “I couldn’t decide on a first name” William Scott, Wilmer is yet another Ashton-Kutcher douche protegee. Wilmer really went against type on That ’70s Show by playing a petite, fey man-child with a strange name who could only get young women who had terrible emotional problems to spread for him. His real claim to be fame is his role as Hollywood’s preeminent Virgin Surgeon. All manner of unsuspecting young starlets are drawn to his magnetic douchiness. Either that or his immense tool, which Wilmer is always happy to boast about. Quoth the douche: “Honestly, I’ve been very blessed. This is the place where I will tell you, yes, I am cursed with this gift. It’s over 8 inches.” Who in their right mind wouldn’t want to be deflowered by this sawed-off lothario so that he can later rate you on a scale of 1 to 10? Fate has smiled again on Wilmer as he’s now essaying the role he was born for: portraying Francis “Ponch” Poncherello in the upcoming C.H.I.P.s remake, a part once made famous by his predecessor douche equivalent Erik Estrada. (read the full article)

Thank you Wikipedia.

In a rather delightful entry on Gay Icons, Wikipedia lists David Beckham alongside George Michael, St. Sebastian and Peter Pan as iconic gay dreamboats.

That would explain — as if any explanation were needed beyond the evidence of our own two eyes — what occurred last Saturday in Valencia, Spain.

It was during a football game when the cutest fanboy in all the world breached security, ran onto the field and, in his adorable big-eyed Iberian way, asked the Becks for the same thing anyone in their right mind would ask for — a big ol’ hug.

Of course, the Becks, somewhat astonished but not exactly surprised, gave him one — at least in the form of an understanding pat on the head?

In exchange, the boy offered his shirt –and it seems his pants as well (at right.)

But then, wouldn’t anyone? — again being in one’s right mind as our overarching assumption. (read the full article)

Somehow we knew “the Buff Boys of Boystown” would find their alliterative way into the Surreal and Continuing After-Death Life of Anna Nicole Smith.

West Hollywood’s finest appear in no more than a walk-on in this, the third act of The Prince and the Polegirl, and yet…

Who can look away when buns and pecs compete with each other for Most Outlandish Feature on a circuit boy’s body?

Who can not fully understand the mad lusting after such super-sized geegaws or why they would play so … definitive… so damning … a role in a certain paternity claim for the most fathered child in America?

From the wonderfully nasty newsletter popbitch : (read the full article)

Sort of sums up his whole career.

It just goes to show you what a little bit of exposure on Nightcharm can do for you. One minute you’re jacking-off for a private camera crew, the next week you’re on national TV. Talk about porn creep!

Remember Daniel, our Fratmen theater cover star (right) from last month? Well, the boys been movin’ on up! In a big way.

We were watching MTV’s Parental Control yesterday and — wow — there was our brunette stud muffin in all his toothy glory (top left). The MTV crew had re-named him Alex. Or maybe Daniel is just his nom deporn? Oy. We’re confused. Silly us, we always believe these guys when they fill out their release forms.

And yep, sure enough he’d been hand picked by one of the show’s hand-wringing parental units for their daughter to date later that evening. (Guess they weren’t aware what Daniel had been up to with the boys in the neighborhood?)

Wanna catch Daniel, uhm ALEX, the way WE remember him best? Naked and letting lose with a long, spurting spooge bomb? You can hop right into the Inner Circle’s Fratmen theater and check him out in the vid clip Fratmen’s Best Shots 1.

And no, you’re not gonna get Punk’d!

(MEMBERS / non-MEMBERS)