Al Franken vs. Bill O'Reilly

By the way, the shots of Travolta kissing that guy on the mouth as the guy boards a plane look like a scene out of a gay Casablanca. You know, "John, we'll always have Santa Barbara." But I'm sure he was just rehearsing for Hairspray.

Before spraying one's hair, any he-man must go Under the Dryer—the name of a pesky blog which provocatively says MADONNA should pay for the expenses of late voguer Ann Richards, I mean Willi Ninja. As was just vented there, "Madonna owes the voguing community a huge debt and the least she could do is step up and pay Willi's remaining medical bills and see to his mother's continued care." It says she "pimped her way" to stardom "on the backs of African American, Latino, and gay cultures . . . She would have nothing including LOURDES without black and brown people. (Madonna was quite public about seeking out a Latino to father her first child.)" There are several intellectual leaps in this argument that I'm not taking—not without liquids—but it's food for thought, and at least it ends with the more realistic suggestion that Madge can maybe just do a benefit concert.

Apparently that's not the only ethnic healing that's needed these days. In CHRISTOPHER GUEST's uproarious upcoming For Your Consideration, an oafish studio exec urges that the movie within the movie, Home for Purim, be toned down so it's less Jewish—you know, because ethnic content might not attract crowds in flyover territory. Well, life imitates satire. The Variety review of Consideration actually said the film is most likely "too heavy on ethnic humor . . . to attract many in flyover territory." Oy.

Left overtures: Franken at the IFC Center
photo: Jacob Pritchard
Left overtures: Franken at the IFC Center


Use this link for the podcast subscription:

Slapstick tragedy

But enough about them, please. Enough about everybody. Now I'm going to buttfuck Ernie . . . I mean, now I'm debuting a feature called My Humiliation of the Week, wherein I relate the most vivid of the many degrading experiences I've freshly suffered. It will be cathartic for me and amusing for you—and if not, I can just chalk it up as another humiliation. And so: Last week, I got a message from a chirpy guy saying, "I have a café in Manhattan called Buster's. We're naming a sandwich after you! It's roast chicken with sautéed spinach and portobello mushrooms and melted parmesan." Well, this wasn't exactly the Pulitzer Prize, but I was still flattered, even if I loathe melted cheese and find spinach un petit deadly. Alas, two minutes later, the well-meaning feeb called back and whimpered, "I misspoke about the sandwich. It's not a Michael Must-ow [sic], it's a Mucho Must-ow. I got really excited because I like your writing. Sorry. Maybe in the future I can put something together that will be named after you." Yeah, how about a triple-decker of sautéed bile with some melted hemlock and a garni of dog dingleberries, drizzled with a hint of energy drink and lotsa spinach juice? And what the fuck is a Mucho Must-ow anyway? Now do you all know why I don't look like I'm having fun?

Web Extra: Which of TV's Charlie's Angels is really the devil? Free answer: The replacement angel, Cheryl Ladd. She had been booked on The Frank DeCaro Show on the gay channel Sirius OutQ, but then her publicist called to say that OutQ is "not her demographic" and canceled her appearance and another interview she was going to do with the same channel. Clueless? Phobic? Yep, and just plain moronic, considering she was going to promote her new book on being a lady golfer! What could appeal to lesbian listeners more than that?

Another Web Extra: Marc Jacobs has gotten racy with those "Nudie T-shirts" for charity and now he's going full frontal porno by endorsing Michael Lucas's gay porn romp La Dolce Musto, I mean La Dolce Vita. Lucas wanted to shoot a porn scene outside the Jacobs store, but Jacobs insisted they do it inside. What's more, the designer wants lots of Jacobs product and logos visible in the movie, I guess to prove that haute couture is an aphrodisiac. Meanwhile, for his next Fellini takeoff, I hope Lucas does 8 1/2.

And another Web Extra, from September 25: Sources swear popular drag performer Flotilla DeBarge ("the Empress of Large") is in trouble with the law, and not because she stole some comedy material. It seems there was an eye-gouging fight at APT—where the door help is notoriously barbaric at times—on Sunday night. (Maybe Flo tangled with Star Jones, who wasn't happy when the drag queen impersonated her for an anti-fur campaign. Nah, maybe not.) Whatever the case, people are actually murmuring words like "Rikers" and "without bail." I've reached out to Flo via phone message and will offer updates as they develop.

« Previous Page