Friday, August 31, 2007


As much as I complain about Minnesota, I do the love the annual State Fair - the largest in the United States. I mean, it's the only place I know that serves every imaginable food on a stick. I love the clear blue August skies and the utter campiness of a State Fair in the year 2007.

I also like looking at the hundreds of hot small town baby misters. I think Andy Warhol said it best..."The older I get, the better looking the young become."

Wednesday, August 29, 2007


Don't you love it when hypocritical republicans like Larry Craig fuck up?

I do.

Every fag in Minneapolis is aware that the airport bathroom is ripe with closet cases looking for dick to suck - and also ripe with undercover police. I mean, who cares if terrorists are plotting to blow up the airport, let's spend our money on catching those disgusting fudge packers.

I laughed out loud when I heard Mr. Craig describe his "wide leg stance" when taking a dump or his remark that he was "just picking up toilet paper off the floor." I guess Senator Larry Craig won't be getting his usual 100 percent rating by the Family Values Association this year. No sirree.

He can now join the ranks of other closeted self-hating homos like Mark Foley and Ted Haggard.

I say good riddance.

Saturday, August 25, 2007


I am in Minneapolis for my annual summer vacation. I have plenty to write about...such as why does every woman in the state of Minnesota have a lesbianonic "bob" haircut? Gross. I mean, it's very unfuckable.

More to come of my unhappy stay in Minneapolis tomorrow.

Monday, August 13, 2007



There are a million places to dine on a cruise. I mean, you can have your choice of any worldly cuisine in the many restaurants and buffets. But the best dining experience bar none is the grand 5-star San Marco; where white-coated waiters serve lobster, filet mignon, veal and other delicacies – and yes, there is the army of silver wear to sort through.

Now on most cruises, you are assigned a table for the duration of your cruise, but that isn’t the case on a gay cruise. Each night you are seated with a new slew of queens to make small talk with. I mean, some evenings you can have the good fortune to be seated with a group of fun fags, but other nights you end up with a painful serving of compare and despair.

Let me explain:

On a bad night, my best friend Peter and I would have to sit and listen to wealthy and happy monogamous couples chat endlessly about their various 40-acre mansions, beachfront condos in St. Tropez and other assorted prizes of wealth.

Over the five-course meal, Peter and I (both single and middle class) would stare at each other and ponder at what point in the homo road of life did we take the wrong turn.

Some nights we choose to dine in the buffet because we couldn’t take another evening of being reminded that we were both romantically and financially inferior.

Tuesday, August 07, 2007


OK - everyone wants to know about sex on the big gay cruise. Well, there is some hooking up - but not as much as you think. I mean, the boat was full of happy - I hate them - couples, but if you wanted a quick poke, you could easily find it.

Of course, the steam room was a total suck and fuck fest; and the hot tubs were so packed with horny men that they resembled bowls of "bear soup." And let's not forget the "14th floor" - the tippy-top little deck for nude sunbathing that transformed into an al fresco orgy after midnight.

But the "let's get busy" award goes to Sam and Rob. This frisky couple plastered their cabin door with printed up postcards advertising their travel schedule and their sexual likes and dislikes.

No, I didn't knock on their door, but I saw plenty that did.

Sunday, August 05, 2007


Every gay cruise has a surprise “star” performance. On previous trips, the “star” – and I use that term extremely loosely – has been Debbie “Only in My Dreams” Gibson, Charo and Joan Rivers.

I know, has-beens one and all.

On the Baltic’s, we were joined by Go-Go Belinda Carlisle. She croaked out her various solo and Go-Go hits with a blasé smile plastered on her face. Clad in a drab "garden party" pantsuit sans shoes, it was obvious as she robotically sang along to a backing track that she was in disbelief that her career had been reduced to singing on a floating resort to a bunch of drunken queens.

During a flat performance of “Circle in the Sand”, one queen leaped from the front row and screamed:

“Belinda – your music saved my life.”

As I contained my laughter from such an idiotic statement, Belinda just smirked at the poor soul and moved to the other side of the stage.

So how is the old gal holding up? I wish I could say my lips were sealed, but that isn't me, is it?

For starters, her face had that odd taut and shiny appearance ala Nicole Kidman from too much Botox and filler; and her neck looked a little bunchy from an ill-fated neck lift, but for 51 she looked pretty good.

What really surprised me were the visible panty lines on her wide pancake flat ass. I mean, I know she lives in southern France, but hasn’t she heard of Spanx? I just wanted to yell outloud..."Bitch, you got pantylines!"

As one old queen sitting behind me said before storming out mid- show….

“For the love of God, she can’t even sing, and for all the money we paid for this trip, she could at least put on a nice dress and a pair of Jimmy Choos.”