Oprah, Dr Phil, still gay

Hello, my young friends! I hope you are all in fine health and spirits today, and you're feeling the divine love of Jesus.






Just kidding, Jesus is stupid.


I know I haven't posted in a while, but I'm extremely popular and it's hard to find the time to regale you with my exploits between the summer parties and events. The life of a socialite is not an easy one, not to mention that I think I'm allergic to the rose petals everyone has been throwing at my feet. But I don't let such adversity stop me! I take a Claritin and soldier on!

So, what have I been up to? I'll give you a hint: it starts with a 'd' and ends with 'rinking'. Let's just work back from the present, for as much as I can remember.

LAST NIGHT: YOU WILL NOT BELIEVE WHO I SAW AT A GAY CRUISING SPOT!
I went to Sidetrack last night with a friend of mine and, unbeknownst to us, it happened to be the club's 25th anniversary party. Yes indeed, 25 years of clumsy drunk hand jobs between strangers in the men's room deserves a gala event serving alcoholic slurpies in a rainbow (ahem) of colors. Purple was my favorite, although red and orange were not without merit. It was a star-studded event to be sure, let's look at the roster:
-- Rog from Good Times has gotten very gay and apparently is hurting for cash, as he was bartending on the second level in some precious khaki shorts and shaking his thang to Carrie Underwood.
-- Every man who has ever touched Paris Hilton's genitalia was there as, unsurprisingly, they are now all homosexual.
-- George Clooney was on the roof top patio, looking smug and debonair at first but dissolving into tears after none of the guys were interested in taking him up on his offers for a rim job. I bet he was kicking himself for not putting a little makeup on that nasty lip sore.
-- Someone I was indifferent to last night, but officially dislike now, showed up: Chicago's own Pete Wentz from Fall Out Boy. My date reported, after he returned from the restroom, that Pete had set up a deli-style ticket dispenser in one of the stalls to handle the volume of his gentleman callers. Amusing, all of his 'dates' looked like your dad and Pete was actually paying them.
-- Oprah, who never misses an opportunity to swing her penis around in public, was doing just that in the first floor video lounge. Patrons could hear her publicist shouting "Dammit, Orson, there are still people in this city that believe you're a woman! Can you put that thing away, please!". Dr. Phil accompanied "her", naturally, and was appalled by this display. He could be heard to comment "That bitch! I'm not going to get any cock now that Oprah is showing off her giant trouser snake! I just can't compete. Oh no, Phil, that's not the right kind of attitude. Tough love, tough love! [dumb hick motivational cliche], [dumb hick motivational cliche], [dumb hick motivational cliche]! Gay men will like me just as much, time to get suckin!". You keep that positive attitude, Phil. I've heard plenty of twinks go for doughy and ignorant.



I also hit up The Tonys last week. In a move everyone seemed to expect, I was given every single award, including Ensemble Cast for my multiple personalities. I've taken my name out of contention for next year, as early critiques of my one-woman production of The Sound of Music are even more complimentary than my hugely popular production of Hair: The Musical where I play every part. The word was that the show's producers found my rendering of Twyla Tharp's choreography "transcendent, absolutely earth-shattering". I wouldn't want a repeat of the same scene next year, spread the love a little, you know. And for the record: Hugh Jackman, I will not accept your petition to be my new cabana boy. I'm holding out for Taye Diggs or Steve, no substitutions allowed.


Alrighty, my cats and kittens, I've got much work to attend to and I'll have to end the narrative here. My comrades and I are going to catch an outdoor movie screening this evening and I have to find a picnic blanket and make finger sandwiches.

Ta for now,
J