Disney Meets Hip Hop

I could care less about Zac Efron and rapper Lil Wayne, but this article made me laugh, cringe and wonder about all the blurred lines in today’s culture.

To whit:

At that very moment—as if on cue—the San Luis Obispo-born Efron himself emerges from Wayne’s den. I’ll later learn that the 20-year-old brunette heartthrob is crashing in Wayne’s guest room while the two work on their High School Musical songs together, but for now it’s like seeing a polar bear in the middle of the Brazilian rain forest.

“What’s up, my nigga?” Efron says, giving Wayne a pound, a hug, and then, to my astonishment, a full-on kiss, reminiscent of the one Wayne famously gave his surrogate father Baby last year. (Obviously, Efron is going to have to work harder to squelch rumors surrounding his sexual orientation.)

Admittedly, I’m a bit jealous of Wayne’s lifestyle, though I can’t imagine spending more than 10 seconds with the “Tiger Beat-er” du jour:

I get up in the morning, get my dick sucked four times, drink a Molson’s, and then hang out with Zac. What, do you want me to go to Hawaii for a vacation? You got a job, but this is my vacation right here.”

Adds Efron, “Word!”

Draw your own conclusions, or don’t.

When It Was February

The gratuitous year-in-review continues:

*Remember the black Congressional candidate who longed for the 1950s? Perhaps you recall Howard Cosell ogling Charlene Tilton or Marlene Dietrich’s take on an American folk classic? It not, you’re in luck.

*The Onion skewered Dane Cook better than I ever could:

“Stand-up comedy is an art form—it’s not just writing and telling jokes,” Cook said. “It requires your whole body and soul to gesticulate wildly and yell the same things about sesame seeds and mustard over and over at the audience in different voices until they laugh.”

“And if there’s a camera present, stand-up is an art form that’s about putting your face as close as possible to that camera and screaming at it,” Cook continued.

*The Blogosphere Says What? tackled the absence of same-sex Valentine’s Day cards. One day, we’ll get that gay greeting card store:

A point needed to be made, and you know me, ya’ll, I like to raise me a ruckus :) So I started calling all my peeps, asking them to join me for for a weep-in at Hallmark. They couldn’t ignore us then. Except no one was interested. Not one. I was so offended — even more offended than I had been 15 minutes earlier when the guy at McDonald’s asked me if I wanted to supersize my meal. What did he mean by that, that I’m some fattie who can’t get by on a quarter pounder with cheese and a medium fries? Or was he making fun of me for being gay?

*Recent cinematic evidence to the contrary, Steve Martin proved he could still be funny as hell in this essay lampooning the concept of 72 virgins in heaven:

Virgin No. 10: . . . so I see Heath, and he goes, “Like, what are you doing here?,” and I go, “I’m hangin’ out,” so he goes, “Like, what?” . .

Virgin No. 14: I’m eighty-four. So what?

Virgin No. 18: I’m saving myself for Jesus.

Virgin No. 35: By the way, here in Heaven “virgin” has a slightly different meaning. It means “chatty.

Virgin No. 39: It’s a lesion, and, no, I don’t know what kind.

Virgin No. 40: I’m Jewish. Why do you ask?

Virgin No. 58: Those are my testicles.

Virgin No. 65: They’re called “adult diapers.” Why?

Virgin No. 70: My name is Mother Teresa.

*And finally, yet another beef with the Petty Queer Establishment.

When It Was February

The gratuitous year-in-review continues:

*Remember the black Congressional candidate who longed for the 1950s? Perhaps you recall Howard Cosell ogling Charlene Tilton or Marlene Dietrich’s take on an American folk classic? It not, you’re in luck.

*The Onion skewered Dane Cook better than I ever could:

“Stand-up comedy is an art form—it’s not just writing and telling jokes,” Cook said. “It requires your whole body and soul to gesticulate wildly and yell the same things about sesame seeds and mustard over and over at the audience in different voices until they laugh.”

“And if there’s a camera present, stand-up is an art form that’s about putting your face as close as possible to that camera and screaming at it,” Cook continued.

*The Blogosphere Says What? tackled the absence of same-sex Valentine’s Day cards. One day, we’ll get that gay greeting card store:

A point needed to be made, and you know me, ya’ll, I like to raise me a ruckus :) So I started calling all my peeps, asking them to join me for for a weep-in at Hallmark. They couldn’t ignore us then. Except no one was interested. Not one. I was so offended — even more offended than I had been 15 minutes earlier when the guy at McDonald’s asked me if I wanted to supersize my meal. What did he mean by that, that I’m some fattie who can’t get by on a quarter pounder with cheese and a medium fries? Or was he making fun of me for being gay?

*Recent cinematic evidence to the contrary, Steve Martin proved he could still be funny as hell in this essay lampooning the concept of 72 virgins in heaven:

Virgin No. 10: . . . so I see Heath, and he goes, “Like, what are you doing here?,” and I go, “I’m hangin’ out,” so he goes, “Like, what?” . .

Virgin No. 14: I’m eighty-four. So what?

Virgin No. 18: I’m saving myself for Jesus.

Virgin No. 35: By the way, here in Heaven “virgin” has a slightly different meaning. It means “chatty.

Virgin No. 39: It’s a lesion, and, no, I don’t know what kind.

Virgin No. 40: I’m Jewish. Why do you ask?

Virgin No. 58: Those are my testicles.

Virgin No. 65: They’re called “adult diapers.” Why?

Virgin No. 70: My name is Mother Teresa.

*And finally, yet another beef with the Petty Queer Establishment.

No Pride In Piedmont Park?

Could be, if the drought persists. Might I suggest the ‘burbs as an alternate locale? Imagine the reception the Pride parade would receive there.

*Cue angry white Buffalo transplant, otherwise known as JB, Sr. (a “character” familiar to Malcontenter Al Kosa and a few others):

(via oversized megaphone) “Your lifestyle is repugnant to me.”

It’s Not Just an Ideology, It’s a Lifestyle

Presenting the 4th annual Great American Conservative Women Calendar. Ooh la gag!

(via Andrew Sullivan)

It’s Not Just an Ideology, It’s a Lifestyle

Presenting the 4th annual Great American Conservative Women Calendar. Ooh la gag!

(via Andrew Sullivan)

The Rev. Republican

I bet even Billy Graham is tired of all the GOP prostyletizing. Watch Mike Huckabee’s latest sermon, and note the imagery behind his head. Coincidence? I doubt it.

Why Conservatives Hate McCain

More than anything, it’s his opposition to torture. Pathetic, ain’t it?

In sum, John McCain has been weak on homeland security, joining with numerous liberal Democrats to argue for closing Guantanamo Bay, applying the Geneva Conventions to unlawful enemy combatants, extending certain constitutional rights to detainees, limiting tried and true interrogation techniques, and conferring amnesty on illegal aliens (which would include OTMs; that fact that Bush supported the same thing is no defense).

It’s Not Just an Ideology, It’s a Lifestyle

Presenting the 4th annual Great American Conservative Women Calendar. Ooh la gag!

(via Andrew Sullivan)

It’s Not Just an Ideology, It’s a Lifestyle

Presenting the 4th annual Great American Conservative Women Calendar. Ooh la gag!

(via Andrew Sullivan)

Snack Du Jour

Cholesterol, fuck ya!

(via The Stranger)

Blame It On Bud

Listening to Bob Costas’ radio show tonight, I heard the most agonizing twist of fate involving our current president and baseball’s ineffectual commissioner, Bud Selig.

Guest Fay Vincent — baseball’s former top dog — relayed a story about how George W. wanted to succeed him as commish. Selig had apparently told Bush he would support his candidacy, but Vincent warned him not to trust the former used car salesman.

Bush, who was then a general partner with the Texas Rangers, gave Selig a deadline because he was interested in running for governor. According to Vincent, Barbara Bush had tried to persuade him not to take on Ann Richards, who was considered a formidable incumbent.

Vincent was right about Selig, who wanted the job for himself. And Barbara Bush was wrong about Richards.

Think how history would’ve been different had Bush 43 — a true fan — become baseball commissioner. The game, and the country, would’ve been much better off.

Thanks a lot, Bud.

A Malcontented 2007

Time for one of those nauseatingly narcissistic year in review posts, featuring — hold for effect — a month-by-month countdown of the best of ATLmalcontent. Can you smell the desperation?

More to the point, can you still smell last January? (Hint: It reeked of Canoe.)

The Blogosphere Says What? was in a reflective mood, getting its poetry on, as some might unfortunately say:

Inside

Where feelings lie

And I die

Inside

Come out of me

Fear, sadness and angry

Inside

My demons reside

Along with pride

Inside

Come out of me

Let me love

Let me be free

Inside

Speaking of parody, check out this tasty morsel of Iranian propaganda: “Woody Allen, Corrupt Jewish Brainwasher.” Actually, it’s meant to be taken seriously. So how’s that cultural revolution going?

Finally, I did my part to help partisan fanatics find love. Not one of them has thanked me.