Taylor Kitsch Shirtless

The Effect Of Gamma Gays on Man‑In‑The‑Moon Movie Stars


I usually put the Schizo of the Week at the end of my Friday roundup, but I keep getting bombarded with trade news about how Hollywood Gheys still don’t feel comfortable coming out of the closet, a topic that has been spearheaded by Rupert Everett’s lament on the BBC a couple of weeks ago about how being out has destroyed his career.  I have known (which is distinct from being friends with) Rupert since he was in Another Country, so I can say with some amount of assurance that he is delusional, and therefore a classic narcissist, which finally explains why I’ve always thought he was such a frickin’ weirdo.

Just to reiterate—in case you haven’t read every word of every post I’ve written the past year—when I say narcissist I don’t just mean someone who is vain and has a healthy amount of confidence (like me).  I mean someone with Narcissistic Personality Disorder, who suffers from the delusion that he is something more than he is, or even more delightfully thinks he is someone else entirely, like Napoleon or Jesus Christ.  In Rupert’s case, he thinks he’s a leading man who could have passed as straight had he never admitted he prefers cock to vag.

I Am Born

My name is not David Copperfield, it's James Killough, and it's not really my birthday.  It's my niece Savannah's.  But today this blog is born.  Today I slip out of the insular, shy womb of low-profile-ness and join the teeming typists online vying for attention.  Will this survive past infancy? ...