Friday, November 27, 2009

Queer and Loathing

Glamberace stars in Risqué Business

In your Weekend Gay News, the Glamorous Gay Prince-in-Waiting of Pop known as Adam Lambert (or Glambert, as I like to call him) recently caused a ruckus of Madonna-esque proportions with his raunchy live performance of  his first official single - the poetically-named "For Your Entertainment" - on ABC's recent American Music Awards.

In the Mad Max Goes To An S&M Dungeon sextravaganza, Glambert simulates oral sex with a kneeling male dancer on a leash, "kicks" a female dancer in her cameltoe, and laps tongues with his male keyboardist.

(Edit: Aha! Found a working clip. Not the full performance, but you can see the simulated bj in question at the 00:08 mark. And in case this one is pulled, you can make do with the CBS interview vid below.)

Unfortunately, it didn't occur to me to grab the video before Dick Clark Productions yanked it off YouTube, but you can see snippets of it in this interview:

At any rate, the "edgy-sexuality" moves were more than enough to spur a backlash with the conservative American viewership, resulting in more than 1,500 irate calls to ABC, which had to blur out Glambert's "offensive" onstage moments for their West Coast telecast (I'm more offended that they also edited out J.Ho's pratfall, the cornballs.) Glambert's antics also cost him an appearance on Good Morning, America, whose producers feared that he might repeat his scandalous number before their viewers could spit out their morning coffee.

Is L'Affaire Lambert a tempest in a teapot?

I'm not a big A.I. or Glambert fan. He's a pretty boy with a good enough voice who has the potential for a Fatso McFatty future if he doesn't watch his donut intake. Nor am I a big fan of his guyliner, his glitter, or his archeological layers of Mac pancake, but hey! He's a performer, and they get a pass for looking outrageous, ridiculous, and borderline insane (Insert Cher, Liberace, Elton John, Madonna, Grace Jones, Xtina, Sasha Fierce, Rihanna, Lady Gaga here. And of course, let's not forget the late, lamented Michael Jackson.)

On a guesting on CBS' The Morning Show (video above), Glambert defended his performance, stating that "I'm not a babysitter. I'm a performer." He went on to say that he "got carried away" and disingenuously added that the simulated blowjob moments were "spontaneous." That was about as spontaneous as Janet Jackson's infamous "wardrobe malfunction" at the SuperBowl, but whatever. All said, Glambert refused to apologize for his performance, and what struck me most about his interview was this statement:

"I think that if it had been a female pop performer doing the moves that were on the stage, I don't think there would be nearly as much of an outrage. At all. Like I said, there were other performers doing risque things. I think it's because I'm a gay male, and people haven't seen that before."

Interestingly, CBS itself proved him correct by airing clips of his blurred-out simulated bj moment, followed a few seconds later by Madonna lip-locking Britney and Christina at that famous MTV Awards performance - which they did not censor.

You can see this.

And this.

But not this.

CBS defended this selective censorship in a statement that said :

"The Madonna image is very familiar and has appeared countless times including many times on morning TV. The Adam Lambert image is a subject of great current controversy, has not been nearly as widely disseminated, and for all we know, may still lead to legal consequences."

Ah. So it's all right to show three hot women engaged in a faux-lesbian kiss, but not an openly gay man simulating oral sex onstage.

It's easy to conclude that it's a twisted kind of sexism. That it's ok for women to be seen engaging in kinkiness, but gay men's sexual shenanigans, simulated or not, are too repugnant to be shown to a civilized audience. But perhaps it's a matter of raciness. After all, you must remember this: a kiss is just a kiss. Take Fall Out Boy's Pete Wentz, that other notorious guyliner-loving boy-kisser :

Tongue out, boy, with Fall Out Boy.

Wentz' candid revelations about kissing boys and his famous "Anything above the waist is fair game" quip haven't undone his status as Fall Out Boy's most famous member. Of course, he's also married to Ashlee Simpson and the father to the unfortunately-named Bronx Mowgli, so Wentz, for all his boy-kissing, is reassuringly hetero enough. Enough to admit kissing other men in public, anyway, but just for shits and giggles, mind you. Because a kiss is just a kiss - unless you mean it. And just as he said in his Out interview : “I’m like the boy next door,” he quips, “but just a little bit off.”

But a blowjob, simulated or not, takes it to a whole other level.

Just like boobies:

"Boobs, I did it again!"

Remember Janet Jackson? She suffered considerable career backlash despite her public apology after her star titty decided it wanted some media exposure of its own, thus horrifying millions of viewers, children included, during that infamous SuperBowl halftime performance that will forever be known as "Nipplegate." But controversy slid off her accomplice Justin Timberlake like fried eggs on Teflon, so that certainly wasn't a touchdown for womankind. (On the other hand, I'm pretty sure the mob would've torn Timberlake to quivering pieces had he shown his man-tits instead - just because he's so damn ugly.)

But back to the more-openly gay pop tart. Glambert is correct in saying that other pop personalities before him have delivered much, much more outrageously-scandalous performances that raised the hackles of conservatives everywhere, thus generating controversy and much-valued buzz. But some critics slam him for not having enough star power yet to earn the right to pull off this kind of publicity stunt. Risqué, after all, is but French for risk, and established pop stars often take calculated ones to boost their careers - with varying results (see Nipplegate above.)

In 1984, this was considered scandalous.

But in the Age of YouTube , how are budding stars supposed to burst into supernovas on sheer talent alone? In the infancy of MTV, Madonna was a helium-voiced pop novelty act who was savvy enough to seize the new medium with open arms and legs, a shameless trailblazer pushing hot buttons and pulling stunts and sexually-charged innuendoes out of every orifice. The fact that her star continues to shine long after her contemporaries' have dimmed - based in no small part on her ability to generate tons of press - explains why her explosive but effective path has been trodden successfully by younger generations of pop superstars such as Britney and Lady Gaga. But note that these three non-blondes, while gayer than springtime in other aspects, are biological, straight women. Glambert, on the other hand, is a glittery gay unicorn unapologetically farting rainbows out his ass.

From  a sparkly pop curiosity ("An openly-gay pop singer! How novel!"), Glambert is angling for a glimmer of genuine stardom and validity with the launching of his first single. With his controversial performance and the firestorm of debate it has sparked, he's certainly achieved a smidgen of notoriety, not to mention free and widespread publicity. The single itself is inconsequential at this point - personally, it sounded like something Britney rejected in favor of snorting more Cheetos. But ever since video killed the radio star, who gives a rat's ass about the music? The buzz - ah, that's the real deal.

To add more fuel to the Glambert fire, not all of gaydom is on his side. Before he officially came out in Rolling Stone , Glambert's initial coyness about his sexual orientation infuriated gay activists who wanted him to stop teasing, come out in the open, and become the poster boy of gay males everywhere. But what does his sexuality have to do with anything? Just because he's gay, does he have to be a role model for all gay youth? Even when he's canoodling with a woman in a magazine pictorial, the poor poofter can't catch a break:


Quelle horreur! Une femme et un pede!

When these photographs and interview for Details magazine came out, Glambert was excoriated for statements such as this:

"I am gay, but I like kissing women sometimes. Women are pretty. It doesn't mean I'm necessarily sleeping with them."

Even the press release for that issue saying that the American Idol runner-up talks about "getting bras thrown at him onstage, kissing gorgeous women, and living the American dream" was more covered in controversy than hickeys on your neck after a drunken Saturday night in Bed.

Things didn't turn out any better after Out magazine, in their annual list of 100 gay honorees, named him "Breakout of the Year"(and no, they weren't referring to his acne scars.) In their interview, Glambert was asked if he ever had sex with a woman, and was subsequently lambasted for trying to downplay his gayness. Excerpts below:

Are you toying with perception when you talk about how you could be bi-curious? Or are you generally attracted to women?

I will make out with a girl at a bar. I mean, after a couple of drinks.

[Laughing] That doesn’t make you any less gay. Get three mai tais in a gay boy and he’ll make out with a girl. Sex is something different.

That’s why I say I’m curious. There are gay guys that gag and go “eww” at the thought of having sex with a girl. I’m curious about it, because I’ve never done it.

Have you ever had any sex with a girl?


You went down on her?


Was it gross, or it was just not what you wanted?

It was a little gross because I don’t think she was as clean as she could’ve been. It wasn’t the act of it that really turned me off. I don’t really remember. I was 18 and I was drunk. Or maybe I was 17... The point of the matter is that I would not rule it out. The idea is intriguing.

And it’s threatening.

Well, it’s threatening personally because you start identifying as a certain thing for so long, the idea of kind of going outside of that is scary because you’re like, “But that’s who I am!” Being curious and embracing that curiosity is all a part of what I’m about. You don’t have to be any one thing. You can kinda just be. Just live your life -- and play.

Before the Rolling Stone coming-out, he was not-quite-gay. Then after the Details shoot, he was not gay enough. With the Out interview and his admission of having kissed a girl down there, he was pilloried for trying-not-to-be-gay. And now, with this American Music Awards debacle, Glambert has become too gay.

What's a poor guyliner-wearing ho to do? Being gay can be glamtastic. However, no one ever said it was easy.

But don't fret just yet over whether twinkling teardrops will make his mascara run. After all, as the old adage goes, "Good or bad, publicity is still publicity." And according to Reuters, thanks to the whole brouhaha, " "For Your Entertainment" was No. 3 on the iTunes U.S. album chart by Wednesday night. Music industry sources told Billboard magazine it is outperforming expectations and could sell about 225,000 units in its first week."
See? To quote yet another old adage: "Sex sells."

Even simulated sex from glittering gay unicorns.

Thursday, November 26, 2009

The Fat of The Land

Ever heard of the expression "living off the fat of the land"? Well, apparently, something got lost in the translation in South America - with gruesome results.

The BBC reports that

"Four people have been arrested in Peru on suspicion of killing dozens of people in order to sell their fat and tissues for cosmetic uses in Europe.

"The horror! The horror!"

The gang allegedly targeted people on remote roads, luring them with fake job offers before killing them and extracting their fat.

The liquidised product fetched $15,000.00 ((£9,000) a litre and police suspect it was sold on to companies in Europe.

At least five other suspects, including two Italian nationals, remain at large. Police said the gang could be behind the disappearances of up to 60 people in Peru's Huanuco and Pasco regions. One of those arrested told police the ringleader had been killing people for their fat for more than three decades.

The gang has been referred to as the Pishtacos, after an ancient Peruvian legend of killers who attack people on lonely roads and murder them for their fat. "

This is some Turistas-meets-Buffalo Bill from Silence of the Lambs-by way of-Soylent Green shit.

And $15,000.00 per liter - sorry, litre - of human fat. Talk about being worth your weight in gold. No wonder there's a corresponding gang in Italy who is reported to have sold the Peruvian fat to the European cosmetics industry, "to be used as an anti-wrinkle treatment."'s that face cream of yours? Working wonders?

Monday, November 23, 2009


I love pratfalls. Something about people falling ass over head just sends me into paroxysms of sadistic glee. And celebrity pratfalls are an even more delectable delight.

Maybe it's because my surname is Schadenfreude. Or maybe it's because I'm 12.

Anyway, here's J-to-the-Ho, landing on her famous culo onstage during the American Music Awards while performing "Loubotins", her latest assault on humanity's ears:

Love the bitchface homegirl makes as she storms off backstage. I wonder how many dancers' souls she ate afterwards? At any rate, she's far more entertaining when she's getting her ass handed to her. She should do this more often, seein' as how she's got the padding for it.

After all, why should Beyonce have all the fun?

Friday, November 20, 2009

World Peace!

Or not.

I always thought beauty pageants were inherently vapid and shallow - if occasionally amusing - spectacles. The same way I always thought pageant losers were the biggest hypocrites this side of the Comelec. Standing around all poised and smiling and clapping while deep down inside their thoughts were filled with violence towards the undeserving winner.

Well, someone's finally proven me correct. And the fact that this happened at a gay beauty pageant (Miss Gay Brazil 2009, to be precise)  makes it all the sweeter:

What poise! What grace! What - what the fuck?!?! Someone should turn this into a movie, stat. Like Drag Queen Me To Hell.

Sunday, November 15, 2009

The "L" Word

All right, Knox Galen, this one's for you.

Galen and I have been having a friendly little back-and-forth in his recent blog post about some guy with a posse of married fubus. A back-and-forth that has leaked over into the Comments Section of someone else's blog , where the author asked:

"May meaning pa rin ba ang sex na walang love?"

Since I have started a conscious effort not to hog someone else's Comments Section with my lengthy opinions, I thought it might be best to just put it up here on my own little corner of the web.

So many of us often mistake Lust for Love. These are two very different four-letter words. But because of the similar effects they have on us - giddiness, excitement, the anticipation of pleasure - it's an easy mistake.

Offhand, I find that it's a mistake often made by the young. Back in the day, I, too, mistook the temporary intimacy of sex to mean something more. Because even the most hurried and anonymous of sexual encounters remains an act of intimacy, no matter how fleeting or shallow.

It takes the school of hard knocks to teach us that this thing may look like that thing, but they are not the same thing at all. To paraphrase the great Woody Allen: "Lust relieves tension. Love causes it."

Sex is sex. Love is love. When the 'twain meet, 'tis truly a special thing. But that's what lovers - in the true sense of the word - are for. Someone who stimulates your heart, as well as your loins.

To seek a deeper meaning in something that is essentially superficial and shallow as a one-night stand is to seek disappointment and even heartbreak. It's a fool's errand, a Quixotic quest. You could sooner find decency and morality in Malacanang.

Tina Turner sang it best: "You must understand/ Though the touch of your hand/Makes my pulse react/ It's physical/Only logical/You must try to ignore/ That it means more than that."

What's love got to do with it, indeed?

But how can you tell the difference? Like wrinkles, I just assume it gets easier with age. Or maybe the wrinkles were there all along and, ironically, one's failing vision leads one to discern them more acutely.

I have few things against ONS apart from people cheating on their lovers and the increased potential to transmit, catch, and spread disease. They serve their purpose:  the release of sexual tensions, a primal need satisfied. I'll allow that sex for sex' sake can leave one feeling empty and used , but I imagine it's akin to having a hangover after one beer too many. You feel horrible, you feel drained, you feel sorry. Or like the inevitable crash after a party drug high - after the thrills come the chills.

All excesses are bad for us. An excess of piety leads to religious fanaticism. An excess of critical thinking leads to nihilism. Playing musical beds is a lot of fun, but even the most energetic among us will eventually get exhausted - both physically and emotionally - from all that hopping in the sack.

Also, while having sex on tap sounds like a fantastic idea, we soon find that it gets really boring, really fast. As Robert Browning wrote, some things we reach for were meant to exceed our grasp, else what's a heaven for?

I can only suppose that's why you find sex without love so meaningless, dear Galen. But meanings are relative constructs, not universal truths. Perhaps "empty" is the word we're looking for, because shallow as ONS are, beneath the surface, they actually do have meaning. They might even have many meanings that can overlap. A married man getting his dick vaccuumed by another man can mean that his wife doesn't like giving head - or that he actually prefers a man to give him head, or that his marriage is in trouble and he is seeking intimacy elsewhere. Or the meaning could be something as simple and mundane as "You're the only mammal with a pulse who was available tonight to suck my cock."

I'm happy that you try to seek meaning in the things you do and the things others do to you, or with you. It's one of the things that separate us from brutes: the ability, nay, the need to make sense of things around us. In your original post, you opined that "It must be a very sad life." whenever PLUs look at other PLUs only as potential sex partners. I'll agree that anyone who reduces everyone else to mere sexual objects to be conquered, used, then discarded is sad in very many ways, but then again, that's just our opinion. The meanings he attaches to his interactions with the world may be worlds apart from ours. I've met enough sociopaths in my life to know that some people are truly bereft of conscience, empathy, or regret - that's what makes the world a fascinating and dangerous place.

We do seemingly meaningless things all the time, Galen. If I flick my cigarette butt onto the sidewalk instead of bothering to find an ashtray to stub it out on, the act might seem meaningless. A casual toss, the physics of an object hurtling through space, inevitably subject to the non-negotiable rules of gravity to fall to the ground and lie there until acted upon by another force. But the meanings are many, if we bother to think about them. It could mean I wasn't raised well enough to be mindful of the cleanliness of my surroundings. It could mean I was raised right, except now I don't give a damn. It could mean a moment's flippancy, a temporary lack of judgment. Meanings can be many and can vary.

So if casual sexual encounters are so sad and meaningless, why do we indulge in them anyway? I don't believe we actually seek out pain and heartache, emo or no emo. So they must mean something. But what they mean depends on the meaning you give them.

To go back to your original post, I maintain that ONS do have a meaning. But that meaning varies. What means something to me may not mean anything at all to you. And even if we both agree that something has meaning, that meaning can be totally different for you and me. While there are things that possess intrinsic meaning outside of our personal perceptions, others - like the things we do with ourselves and others - derive their meaning from us. We give them meaning - or none at all.

And as for sex without love, let me leave you with this little number from All Saints. For all of us, who are no saints.

Bootie Call : To call someone to invite them over JUST for sex.

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

What Don't You Fucking Understand?!?

Surely everyone has had a spectacularly shitty day.

Mine was especially craptastic because I've been restless and angry all day and couldn't pinpoint a specific reason why. It wasn't just because I lacked sleep - nessun dorma is my mantra, remember? Could it have been because it was a hellishly hot day? I hate the sun like a vegan hates pork chops. Or maybe it's because I have another big client presentation tomorrow and I am kicking and screaming at the prospect of not having a Christmas holiday because they have decided to dump the last quarter requirements on me this late in the game.

Whatever. I needed to vent, and remembered this.

Early this year, Christian Bale had that famous meltdown on the set of Terminator Salvation. Backstory: the Director of Cinematography apparently kept walking into the shots while checking the lights, hence ruining the scenes until Bale finally went ballistic and entered internet immortality, chewing out the hapless DOP and dropping the "F" bomb like he was carpet-bombing Baghdad.

I feel for Bale: I've been at many many shoots and there are plenty of times when the director just simply loses it. I myself have blown my top enough times sitting at the helm to ensure that the production staff better fucking get their game on.

But back to Bale. Naturally, the live audio of his stream-of-obscenities - surreptitiously recorded by the sound engineer - quickly hit the internet and became viral. You can listen to the full unadulterated rant below:

As much as Bale's ravings remind me eerily of myself when I am chewing out the fucking neighbors for not keeping their fucking dogs fucking quiet at fucking 3am while I'm fucking trying to work, the awe-inspiring raw material above was merely the coal for an even more spectacular, polished diamond version .

An inspired audio artist/sound engineer named RevoLucian set the soundboard tracks to a thumping club beat, resulting in the definitive dance remix below (special guest appearance by Barbra Streisand):

Enjoy. I know I most fucking certainly did.

Saturday, November 7, 2009

Secrets de Famille

I love reading other bloggers not only because of the sheer variety of our life stories and observations, but also because of the commonality of our experiences.

Mr. Scheez posted an entry entitled "Forgiveness", in which he expressed his feelings about his father's "extra-curricular activities." When I realized how long my reply to his post was, I decided it was best not to hijack his Comment Box and instead write a full entry of my own.

Like most families, mine has several skeletons in the closet. Deep, dark secrets that were not to be discussed openly - if at all - but discussed nonetheless, in hush-hush tones and while glancing furtively around to make sure the walls were not listening. Usapang matatanda, they would say, as they shooed us curious children out of the room while they murmured about...things.

Hence, I was already an adult when I confirmed my father's numerous affairs. The confirmation came straight from the old man himself, one rare night when we were alone and just shooting the breeze. We had been talking about something else entirely - and completely sober, mind you - when out of the blue bam! "Oh, by the way, may mga kapatid kayo sa labas."

My reaction was not one of hurt or shock but more of a curious "Well, holy shit, no kidding."

I've often maintained that "All men are pigs." And I say that with as much rancor and bitterness as I would say "The sky is blue." or "Lasagna tastes good." 'Tis merely an observation, and most of the time, a fact.

At any rate, my father's confession answered many questions about why there were so many rocky patches in my parents' marriage and why my mother has a long-standing grudge against certain relatives who knew but apparently didn't stand up enough for her.

His confession didn't exactly come as a shock, because children instinctively pick up things, especially when there is trouble at home. My uncles would often joke about how my dad had a girl in every port - literally, because he was a globe-trotting man - and that I should go and meet my illegitimate siblings some day. These jokes were met with much annoyance from my aunts and a stern "Tst!" from my grandmother, so I didn't give them much thought. My uncles played all sorts of pranks on us and this wasn't anything unusual.

I had my first inkling that these jokes were half-meant when I was about 12. My mother - usually a quiet, serene woman - had been in an extended state of agitation, eventually replaced by a state of anger mixed with palpable fear and panic. (I would find out years later that dad's mistress du jour had gone Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction and had threatened to kill us so she could have my father all to herself. Sweet lady, nuttier than a fruitcake.)

I think all children would rush up to aggressively protect their mothers' feelings and interests: I know I would've hated my dad intensely had I discovered his infidelities much earlier on. Not because of any possessive notion that only my mom should have access to my dad, but in hindsight, more because of the pain and anguish he inflicted upon her.

While it really isn't about you, as others have pointed out, it most certainly does involve you, simply because two people you love are also inextricably involved. Whatever resentments I have towards my father do not stem from his marital infidelities; they come from other issues altogether. I'm pretty sure, though, that my half-siblings - whoever and wherever they may be - are the ones who must hate him the most. I am the legitimate first-born son and there are certain moral, societal, and legal guarantees protecting that status.( I just chuckled as I wrote that because last month my brother stated that dad had had many other trysts long before marrying our mother - resulting in at least one child born out of wedlock pre-dating yours truly.)

But chuckling aside, for better or worse, I have had a complete family unit growing up. Obviously, my half-siblings did not have that privilege, and how deeply that has affected their lives I do not know. To this day, my spinster aunts are still very reticent about discussing les affaires de mon pere. It's easier to wheedle bits and pieces out of my uncles - must be some kind of guy thing. My brother, who has far more time on his hands than I do, has been my best weasel thus far. I hear reports of sightings, and that at least one half-sib looks like our sister, and lives quite near the old neighborhood where we grew up.

I am most curious to meet him. And the ones in Germany. And Singapore. And Guam.

My mother, of course, need not know. I don't believe she'd have the same equanimity as my ex-sister-in-law did when my brother recently and officially presented her with his four extra-marital spawn (from two different women, mind you) at a recent bienvenida for her, my nephew, and niece. My legitimate nephew, for his part, gamely played Big Brother to all of them. My niece was non-plussed as long as she remained lolo's girl.

While my mother has learned to love and accept her illegitimate grandchildren as her own, I can only guess what anguish she initially went through seeing history repeating itself before her eyes a generation later.

What can I say? All men are pigs. The sky is blue. And lasagna tastes good.

And my brother is truly my father's son, in more ways than one.

It must be a guy thing.

Thursday, November 5, 2009

The Bear Essentials

Boring rainy days and finally, finally finishing the remainder of my billings allows me to surf the net dangerously at leisure, to bring you these oh-so-important questions:

1. What does a bear look like naked?
2. Have you ever seen one?
3. Would you like to?

And since I'm such a nice guy, sure! Feast your eyes on Dolores, The Naked Bear:

According to the Daily Mail :

 "You'd have thought a fur coat would have been the ultimate bear necessity.

But not for the unfortunate Dolores who has lost all her body hair and has just been left with a few tufts around her head. Vets have been been left baffled by the condition of the bespectacled bear, who lives at a zoo in Leipzig.

And Dolores isn't the only one. The sudden hair loss has affected all female bears at the zoo.

Some experts believe it could be due to a genetic defect though the animals do not seem to be suffering from any other affliction. The bears, which originate from South America, normally have fluffy dark brown fur and would now be growing a thicker fur coat to keep warm during the winter

But instead they have developed nasty rashes and inflammations on their skin. Unfortunately for the bears, their lack of hair has been pulling in the crowds who want to see want to see the wrinkly animals. Hopefully the zoo will be turning up the heat in their enclosure."

Well, this gives a whole new twist to the term "bear naked."

Or was it bare naked?

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

Dog Day Afternoon

If it's Tuesday, it must be time to bore you with some dog tales.

Right after I posted my last pet entry, things started looking up. The Sibe and the cat seemed to declare a truce, with the Sibe's initial aggression transforming into something more of an excited curiosity. But since that's what killed the cat, so to speak, I still have to supervise their encounters, like a good U.N. peacekeeper.

For his part, the cat has promoted the Sibe from "Sheer Hatred" to his normal "Contemptuous Dismissal." As for Chow 1, for a good while he seemed to have warmed up to the  Sibe, to the extent of wrestling playfully with him. And all was right with rudeboy's doghouse.

Alas, there is no such thing as a lasting peace.

For some unknown reason, for the past couple of days Chow1 has reverted to aggression towards the Sibe, relentlessly going after his tail every waking chance he gets. Is he trying to establish his place in the pecking order? Is it jealousy? Or madness?

I don't know. All I know is all of them have had their shots, but if this backwards state of events continues, I know I'm going to need shots of my own. Vodka shots. Lots of them.

Alas, my nose is pressed to the grindstone once again, so while I go back to the salt mines (as my Art Director used to say), let me leave you with this imaginary exchange between the members of my animal farm:

Click to view full. And also so you can actually read what's going on.

Sunday, November 1, 2009

Flores Para Los Muertos

To all the dead loves.

Loves that should have been buried long ago.

And loves in the process of dying.