The blogosphere says what?

(a parody, for the uninitiated)

I know ya’ll have been waiting to hear about my weekend with Chris Crocker. I would’ve told you sooner, but I’ve been home crying all week. My life’s a mess because I dared fall in love.

Not only that, I’ve lost all faith in celebrities. I dreamed of dating one, or at least being friends with one, but now I wonder: are they all assholes?

So I arrive at the airport, in my AMAZING O-Town T-shirt, waiting for Chris to pick me up (as we had planned). And I waited. Then waited some more. I called him on his cell. No answer. I was getting really worried. I was in Salt Lake City, ya’ll. Everyone was looking at me like I was the only gay person in the airport. Those Mormons may look nice on the outside, but I could feel their thoughts. Every one of them was calling me “fag.” I couldn’t hear them, but I knew that’s what they were thinking.

Feeling alone and vulnerable, I searched for some comfort. After spending two hours and $80 at Chili’s, Chris called. “Now who are you again?” “I thought I was your new boyfriend, but I guess I was wrong!” He sighed and giggled and acted like he was joking. Said he couldn’t be at the airport because he was being interviewed by someone from Out magazine. Take a cab, he said.

I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe in us. So I took a cab; it cost me like $120. He lived with his grandmother in the middle of nowhere in some poopy trailer.

This mean old woman answered the door. I told her I was here to see Chris. She screamed for him. No answer. After a few minutes she invited me in and pointed me to his bedroom.

“Better knock first,” she said.

So I did. And I knocked again. No answer. Finally, I cracked open the door. And there was Chris masturbating on a Web cam. When I announced my presence, he didn’t stop. He kept on until well, you know. I didn’t know what to do.

His walls were covered with Britney and Ashley Angel posters, so I felt a little better. When he finally turned around he told me I looked fatter than I do in my pictures.

I was speechless. Bravely, I opened my mouth. “What did you say?” “You’re fat!”

How could he be so mean? How could I have ever fallen for someone with such little regard for my feelings? Then he told me, “you can stay here, but I don’t want to see you naked.” Don’t worry, asshole!

I needed to escape. But I was in the middle of the desert in some trailer. He said he was going to an orgy later that night and that I could come but would have to sit in the car.

I just wanted to go home. “Take me to the airport … now!” I demanded. He was like, yeah, that’s probably a good idea.

We listened to Britney’s new CD the whole way there. Fortunately her beautiful voice drowned out my tears. That asshole didn’t even care. He was too busy singing along, looking at himself in the rearview mirror every five seconds. When we got to the airport, he said nothing but “have a nice trip.”

I was numb. Before I could tell him how I felt he sped away. And I had to spend the night in the airport because I couldn’t catch a flight until early the next morning. By the time I left Utah I had spent $120 on a cab and $257 at Chili’s. I felt so sad. Maybe it was the cheese fries. More likely it was my broken heart.

I gave up everything for him — I’m still on leave from my job at Initech, and they’re like in no hurry for me to come back. I’ve never felt so alone.

Gay bullies

Offend a homosexual in the UK and you might well end up in jail for seven years.

The legislation – similar to laws already in force outlawing persecution on religious or racial grounds – will make criminals of those who express their views in ways that could lead to the bullying or harassment of gays.

The maximum sentence is longer than the average of around five years handed to rapists.

You read that correctly. Speech crimes will be judged more harshly than sexual assaults.

This is why I so vehemently oppose the Petty Queer Establishment; hate crime legislation is the first step. Criminalizing “hate speech” is next. While some within the gay movement would like to make us the most protected class, I’d rather prove we can handle a slur without demanding imprisonment. We are not all whiny, self-absorbed little queens.

The gay pressure group Stonewall said those who disapprove of homosexuals would have nothing to fear from the law if they express their views in a manner that is “temperate” and “polite”.

And who defines what is temperate and polite? The PC thugs within the PQE? This post alone might land me in the hoosegow.

If there are any gays or lesbians reading this who care to defend such a law, please comment. I dare you.

Meanwhile, in Burma …

While we’ve turned our attention elsewhere, monks are being tortured as the junta continues its reign of terror:

Monks confined in a room with their own excrement for days, people beaten just for being bystanders at a demonstration, a young woman too traumatised to speak, and screams in the night as Rangoon’s residents hear their neighbours being taken away.

Harrowing accounts smuggled out of Burma reveal how a systematic campaign of physical punishment and psychological terror is being waged by the Burmese security forces as they take revenge on those suspected of involvement in last month’s pro-democracy uprising.

And the world yawns.

The blogosphere says what?

(a parody, for the uninitiated)

I know ya’ll have been waiting to hear about my weekend with Chris Crocker. I would’ve told you sooner, but I’ve been home crying all week. My life’s a mess because I dared fall in love.

Not only that, I’ve lost all faith in celebrities. I dreamed of dating one, or at least being friends with one, but now I wonder: are they all assholes?

So I arrive at the airport, in my AMAZING O-Town T-shirt, waiting for Chris to pick me up (as we had planned). And I waited. Then waited some more. I called him on his cell. No answer. I was getting really worried. I was in Salt Lake City, ya’ll. Everyone was looking at me like I was the only gay person in the airport. Those Mormons may look nice on the outside, but I could feel their thoughts. Every one of them was calling me “fag.” I couldn’t hear them, but I knew that’s what they were thinking.

Feeling alone and vulnerable, I searched for some comfort. After spending two hours and $80 at Chili’s, Chris called. “Now who are you again?” “I thought I was your new boyfriend, but I guess I was wrong!” He sighed and giggled and acted like he was joking. Said he couldn’t be at the airport because he was being interviewed by someone from Out magazine. Take a cab, he said.

I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe in us. So I took a cab; it cost me like $120. He lived with his grandmother in the middle of nowhere in some poopy trailer.

This mean old woman answered the door. I told her I was here to see Chris. She screamed for him. No answer. After a few minutes she invited me in and pointed me to his bedroom.

“Better knock first,” she said.

So I did. And I knocked again. No answer. Finally, I cracked open the door. And there was Chris masturbating on a Web cam. When I announced my presence, he didn’t stop. He kept on until well, you know. I didn’t know what to do.

His walls were covered with Britney and Ashley Angel posters, so I felt a little better. When he finally turned around he told me I looked fatter than I do in my pictures.

I was speechless. Bravely, I opened my mouth. “What did you say?” “You’re fat!”

How could he be so mean? How could I have ever fallen for someone with such little regard for my feelings? Then he told me, “you can stay here, but I don’t want to see you naked.” Don’t worry, asshole!

I needed to escape. But I was in the middle of the desert in some trailer. He said he was going to an orgy later that night and that I could come but would have to sit in the car.

I just wanted to go home. “Take me to the airport … now!” I demanded. He was like, yeah, that’s probably a good idea.

We listened to Britney’s new CD the whole way there. Fortunately her beautiful voice drowned out my tears. That asshole didn’t even care. He was too busy singing along, looking at himself in the rearview mirror every five seconds. When we got to the airport, he said nothing but “have a nice trip.”

I was numb. Before I could tell him how I felt he sped away. And I had to spend the night in the airport because I couldn’t catch a flight until early the next morning. By the time I left Utah I had spent $120 on a cab and $257 at Chili’s. I felt so sad. Maybe it was the cheese fries. More likely it was my broken heart.

I gave up everything for him — I’m still on leave from my job at Initech, and they’re like in no hurry for me to come back. I’ve never felt so alone.

Gay bullies

Offend a homosexual in the UK and you might well end up in jail for seven years.

The legislation – similar to laws already in force outlawing persecution on religious or racial grounds – will make criminals of those who express their views in ways that could lead to the bullying or harassment of gays.

The maximum sentence is longer than the average of around five years handed to rapists.

You read that correctly. Speech crimes will be judged more harshly than sexual assaults.

This is why I so vehemently oppose the Petty Queer Establishment; hate crime legislation is the first step. Criminalizing "hate speech" is next. While some within the gay movement would like to make us the most protected class, I’d rather prove we can handle a slur without demanding imprisonment. We are not all whiny, self-absorbed little queens.

The gay pressure group Stonewall said those who disapprove of homosexuals would have nothing to fear from the law if they express their views in a manner that is "temperate" and "polite".

And who defines what is temperate and polite? The PC thugs within the PQE? This post alone might land me in the hoosegow.

If there are any gays or lesbians reading this who care to defend such a law, please comment. I dare you.

Meanwhile, in Burma …

While we’ve turned our attention elsewhere, monks are being tortured as the junta continues its reign of terror:

Monks confined in a room with their own excrement for days, people beaten just for being bystanders at a demonstration, a young woman too traumatised to speak, and screams in the night as Rangoon’s residents hear their neighbours being taken away.

Harrowing accounts smuggled out of Burma reveal how a systematic campaign of physical punishment and psychological terror is being waged by the Burmese security forces as they take revenge on those suspected of involvement in last month’s pro-democracy uprising.

And the world yawns.

The Hipster Olympics

This YouTube parody nails it, with allegedly hilarious results. Get it? Yeah, sure you did.

The most bravest story ever told

If you have an hour to spare (and a box of Kleenex handy, in case he stops by), check out Duane’s coming out story. Rosa Parks has nothing on him.

Re: National Coming Out Day — honesty is always preferable. I certainly recommend it. Coming out wasn’t easy for me, having been raised in a religious household (in a less tolerant time). But at a certain point I grew up and accepted reality. It became a matter-of-fact declaration; I wasn’t proud, I just was.

If you’d rather live a lie, that’s your business, unless you’re profiting from persecuting gays, or passing homophobic legislation. Then you should be forced out. Otherwise, I’ll mind my business and you mind yours.

*Note to the Petty Queer Establishment: having actor TR Knight appear in a PSA for National Coming Out Day is a tad ironic, considering he was dragged out by a bigoted colleague. Maybe they should’ve hired Isaiah Washington instead.

Consider that Knight was 33 at the time he was “exposed.” He knew he was gay; he just didn’t want the world to know for fear his career would suffer. Understandable, perhaps, but that doesn’t make him a poster child.