THE WEEK FROM MY VIEW

I was told by a website guru yesterday after the new PFC website went live, “You need to post more lists.  It’s how Americans get most of their information.”  That is so fucking scary.  Scary enough that I promised WebGuru we’d look into it.

The process of transitioning to this was like giving birth for me, but WebGuru himself had nine sites go live on the same day and barely broke a sweat.  He also has a team of several dozen.  I promised we’d do lists, but do them our way.  You know, quirky but glamorous, just like Daphne Guinness.

I have to admit that my guilty pleasure is a good list, with slideshow.  Or a filled-in questionnaire by someone who interests me, especially if he or she is really cute and super dumb.

This morning I actually looked at HuffPo’s “12 Least Gay-Friendly Colleges” list without evening being aware that I need to now be studying La Arianna’s enviable listing skills.  I looked because it was one of her three hottest stories, right under the new Homo Travolta revelation.

Even Mormon calendar boys look waxen

Now, why would an homme d’un certain age who has no intention of returning to college give a shit about homophobic colleges?  I knew going in there that I wouldn’t have heard of most of them.  Bingham-Young University I’d heard of because they made an “It Gets Better” video that moved everyone, but Mormonism in general is just too bewildering to me, too American-sinister, cult-as-a-diorama, and the adherents seem to be made out of wax (although I did enjoy Big Love).  University of Notre-Dame was sort of a surprise, but being Catholic they’re no doubt more pedophile friendly instead.  Boston College I knew of because I dated a wonderful guy who went there, who was gorgeous, funny, but thick as a brick—“I only understand fifty percent of what you say, James”—and hadn’t come out of the closet until he was thirty-six, in this day and age, which explains why he chose such a homophobic school.  (That story was for all of my friends out there who lament I date nothing over twenty-five.)

But University of the Ozarks?  Where the fuck?… The Deliverance jokes came flooding to my head.  Do we really care that the University of the Ozarks is homophobic?  In any case, there ain’t no self-respecting queen on this planet gonna park her ass at U of O for four years.  After four days, she’ll have hitched a ride to Manhattan, shaved her legs and chest on the way and been hired as a go-go boy at Splash rather than endure any more of that hee-haw hayride hick shit.  Still, I read the list, or rather viewed it, and made a mental note that somehow La Arianna manages to sell ad space to Virgin Atlantic on her slide decks, too. Damn her.

Yes, we are gearing up for the big spread here at PFC.  I’m not talking about picture spreads on that huge-assed slider we have going across the top of the main page, either.  I’m talking about spreading our legs and being hos.  We’re doing lists and slide decks and whatever it takes.  Because that’s modern content, baby.

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In between writing that last item and finding material for the next, I got sucked into La Arianna’s list of “Stars Who Get Inked for Love about celebrities getting tattoos of their lovers and then have them removed or changed when it’s over.  I can’t help it, these slide shows and lists are completely addictive even though they are so silly, and I honestly do not care about celebrity tattoos.

Alan Cumming

However, let me add my own anecdote in here because it’s almost as good as Johnny Depp changing his “Winona Forever” tattoo to “Wino Forever” after he and Winona Rider split up.  Alan Cumming and his ex (the same man who introduced me to Alan), Raven, had each other’s names tattooed on themselves.  When they broke up, Alan went through the incredibly painful procedure of having Raven’s name removed, but Raven simply transformed his into “BALANCE” (luckily, they had the foresight to do them in all caps).  I suppose Alan didn’t have many options with his tatt: he is far from “CRAVEN,” actually quite bold and audacious, and too thin to be “RAVENOUS.”

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This is meant to be the week in review and I’m waffling on about lists, although frankly the biggest news in this rather slow week was the launch of our new site, so there’s nothing wrong about talking about what we’re up to.

Here’s my list of some of the week’s dumbest news items:

1.  That Luke Magnotta, a.k.a. “The Porn-Star Killer” (oh, c’mon, at best he was a porn model in a bunch of very B-rate vids), is also the Hollywood Hills Killer.  Aside form the fact that Magnotta was three thousand miles away from here, that murder and dismemberment was screaming Armenian mob hit, or it was at first.  Then they found out the victim was sixty-year-old Hervey Medellin, which doesn’t sound at all Armenian, but it does scream Colombian mob hit because we all know that the best cartels in the world are manufactured in Medellin, Colombia.

All homos know that you can’t be into Asian twinks (a.k.a. “shwinks”) and Latino granddaddies.  That’s just too much of a stretch on the taste factor, even though both have human flesh.

2.  That President Obama allegedly made an oral sex joke about his wife at an LGBT fundraiser in Hollywood.  See, now right there you have a hat trick of Republican bugaboos: Democratic presidents having oral sex, Gheys being treated as equals and seriously by those same presidents, and Hollywood.  The non-issue was raised by Business Insider when they suggested that Obama’s quip that Michelle does more push-ups than he does “but she doesn’t go all the way down” somehow referenced blowjobs, or lack thereof.  This could be seen as a seedy right-wing conspiracy to remind people of Monica Lewinski.  But in reality it’s because it has indeed been a very slow news week, and political reporters are desperate to stay relevant, even at the risk of seeming as puerile Bevis and Butthead.

3.  That after relinquishing the coveted role of Linda Lovelace to Amanda Seyfried, whose boobs help catapult this website to where it is now, Lindsay Lohan finally managed to get some work on a Lifetime movie—almost an industry cliché for hitting the rock bottom—about Elizabeth Taylor.  Now, I’ve been secretly very anxious about Lohan because I know how much actors really get paid and she can’t have very much money left; in fact, I’ll wager what’s left in my bank account that someone must be bankrolling her at this point, hoping for a turnaround that will get him paid back with some sort of premium.  But I’m being a pedantic producer.

The real Liz & Dick

It seems that only this morning, Lohan didn’t show up for her 4:30 AM call on Liz and Dick (she has two hours of makeup to look like Taylor), because she crashed her car into an eighteen-wheeler… And survived!  This is one resilient junkie.

This has thrown the shooting schedule haywire; TV is shot a breakneck speed with no margin for stars being twelve hours late to set.  So now the producers are seeing if they can recoup on insurance because of this.  I hope the insurers were making Lohan pee into a cup every few hours and that she was genuinely sober when she hit that most behemoth of trucks, or that the producers were clever enough to find insurers who weren’t aware of Lohan’s drug and alcohol problems and didn’t ask for a minder and frequent testing.  Maybe they thought that as long as Lohan wasn’t playing Marilyn Monroe, it was cool.  If it is the latter case, I would very much like to know who these insurers are because we need to talk about my next project.

UPDATE: It appears Lohan slammed into a dump truck, not an eighteen-wheel truck, which is still substantially bigger than either she or the Porsche she was driving, and is so symbolic of the state of her life it blows my mind.  Then she allegedly tried to bribe the dump trucker. The glamor never ends with that girl.

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India is all aflame over a vaginal wash that claims to whiten your pussy.  I am frankly shocked that they are able to advertise such a thing to begin with.  (Of course, I get this story from La Arianna’s site, where else?)  I know that Indians worship a cosmic pussy known as the yoni, but they’ve come a long way if they’re actually acknowledging that women have one in TV commercials.  Why, I’m downright proud of them.  View the spot HERE.

The whitening vaginal wash is of course hogwash.  Genitalia is always darker on all races, always will be, not matter the scrubbing.  However, even though I only know the colloquial Hindi for testicles—ande, or eggs—I’m hopeful that those ingenious Indians will come up with an anti-wrinkle cream for the scrotum, if only because it’s bound to work everywhere else, and this face of mine ain’t gettin’ prettier.

Note that this is actually an old story that HuffPo has already printed twice.  And you thought I was being whiny when I said nothing happened this week.  If La Arianna’s recycling…

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Schizo of the Week goes to Ilias Kasidiaris, leader of Greece’s creepily named Golden Dawn Party, the right-wing group that has gained an alarming amount of popularity in recent months, eerily similar to the rise of Nazism in pre-War Germany, when people thought Hilter & Co.. were the solution to grinding, unending economic woes.  A former member of the Greek military’s special forces (of course), Kasidiaris threw a glass of water in a liberal opponent’s face, and then bitch slapped another repeatedly, on a TV show.  Both were women.

Kasidiaris has forty-eight hours to turn himself into police on assault charges.  At which point he’ll also become my Fantasy Cellmate of the Week: