Right here. When my girlfriend (who recently told me to get off my lazy ass and update this motherfucking blog already, but in a less Samuel L. Jackson-ish tone than that) and I get married, that’s the first thing we’re going to do: hit a guy with a shoe, both of us, so we can honeymoon in a luxurious prison cell that boasts amenities like a creaky cot and a toilet that hasn’t worked since 1973. Truth be told, I’d rather spend a week in France or go to a quiet bed and breakfast for a few days, but she’s a Roger Corman fan and you know how he romanticized women’s prisons…
Duncan James of the British band Blue has come out as bisexual (warning: the link will take you to a trashy UK tabloid website that will hurt your eyes and possibly your intellect). The best part of any pop idol coming out is always reading the comments his borderline-illiterate fans make online afterward (witness the reactions of Claymates to Clay Aiken coming out here), so let’s sample some of the reaction to his announcement:
“this news is brill!!!!”
“NO, NOT DUNCAN!!! I loved him, OMG! I was a huge fan! What i can say? It shouldn’t be this way. What is happening? I don’t think being Bi is a good thing….”
“no such thing as bisexual. you smoke a pipe – youre gay. end of!”*
“It was SO obvious!!!”
“Well as Duncan is always walking up and down Compton Street in London’s gay village, there was no shock to this news.”
“absolute filth. You should be locked up for putting women at risk from your dirty sordid antics. mind you, you would probably enjoy dropping the soap in the showers!!! disgusting human being”
“you seem like a top bloke mate that’s all that matters well done for being brave and talking about it good luck”
Overall, there were lots of “Duh!” responses, which makes a modicum of sense if you’re familiar with the hair and posture (more pictures here) of this particular boy bander. Honestly, I found the reactions to be disappointing, perhaps because Blue hasn’t been relevant for years. What I’d really like to happen in the near future, just to see if the Internet can withstand it, is for a current heartthrob with mass tween and teen appeal—a Daniel Radcliffe or Robert Pattinson—to come screaming out of the closet. If that could be timed for December, it would make for the greatest holiday season ever.
In July of last year, a producer for the 8,000-year-old British soap opera Coronation Street told The News of the World, that bastion of journalistic integrity, of plans to add a lesbian character to the show’s cast. Today, News of the World is reporting that the lesbian will be “teen terror Sophie Webster,” who has been on the program since the early ’90s. But wait, there’s more:
Sophie (Brooke Vincent) shatters her new born-again Christian image by dumping her boyfriend to romp with a girl member of her bible study group.
The tearaway stunned parents Sally and Kevin when she told them she was turning over a new leaf by turning to God.
I’ll admit, that made me laugh; if nothing else, it’s bound to make for lighter viewing than For the Bible Tells Me So.
Remember Jacqui Smith, the Home Secretary of the UK who made waves a few months ago when she basically told Iranian gays seeking asylum in the United Kingdom to piss off and stay closeted in their home country to avoid execution?
She’s attracting headlines again this week, and this time it’s for something good: American hate-mongers and national embarrassments Fred and Shirley Phelps want to stage one of their moronic protest publicity stunts outside a Hampshire, England performance of The Laramie Project, and Smith is having none of it: She has blocked Fred and Shirley from entering the UK on the grounds that they’re hatred-inciting extremists.
Not everyone is satisfied with Smith’s decision (gay rights activist Peter Tatchell doesn’t understand why homophobic Jamaican reggae singers don’t face similar bans), but I like it. Not as much as I’d like to see Fred and Shirley picketed by thousands of angry gays and stylish drag queens holding signs that say “God Hates Hags,” but it’ll do for now.
The 91-year-old lesbian, who is working on a book about her life, had this to say about being gay in the 1940s and ’50s (and way before that): “Everybody says what a terrible life it was, but I quite enjoyed myself. I didn’t find it terrible. I was very proud.” And she was wearing pants in public when it was still considered daring for a woman to do so, which just adds to her greatness.
It’s been almost a week since I last mentioned Jodie Marsh (whose lesbionic backstory you can read about here), and I think we’d all agree that’s been almost a week too long. Just as you can never have enough hats, gloves and shoes, you can never have enough news about Britain’s favorite attention-seeking clown hooker.
With that in mind, I point you in the direction of Dlisted, the brainchild of the gayelle-crazed homosexual Michael K (not to be confused with Gregory K, the kid who divorced his parents, or Kafka’s Josef K — I’m not sure how either Gregory or Josef would feel about Michael’s one true love, the celebrated lesbian folk hero Rojo Caliente), and its recap (complete with image gallery) of Jodie lezzing out for photographers the other night with her girlfriend Nina.
Throughout history, British women have been total players.
Every goddamn week, it seems, British lesbians want to sleep with a new celebrity. I know this because I receive e-mail alerts about it. Why it’s considered newsworthy that anyone wants to have sex with Maria Sharapova, I really couldn’t tell you, but then there are a lot of things about Britain I don’t understand.
Jodie Marsh and Kerry Katona immediately come to mind — can anyone explain those two to me? And then there’s that troubling national obsession with truly awful cover songs, often of tunes that were terrible the first time around, performed by hacky boy bands and girl bands that seem like they were assembled by comedy writers who have nothing but contempt for the public.
I’ve been careless in keeping track of all the famous women these very social British lesbians have set their sights this year, so I’m sure I’m missing the results of a poll or twelve. Still, this should give you an idea of what I’m talking about:
“For three glorious days, I handed my lover plump strawberries and smoked duck meat…”
This weekend, The Observer, as part of their massive “Sex Uncovered” feature that is all about Britain and sex in the year 2008, published several sex diaries written by people from all walks of life. I had to read the one by Patricia, a 46-year-old lesbian, several times in order to wrap my brain around it. It’s presented in a somewhat choppy style, but I think it’s worth sharing. How often do lesbians get to write about their sex lives in The Observer?
My favorite parts:
My partner and I haven’t used a strap-on, certainly not since we moved from the other flat last year.
I keep going back to this sentence. What does it mean? It’s the “certainly not since we moved” part that really draws you in. It’s so intriguing. What’s so certain about it? Did they leave the strap-on back at the old flat? Did they toss it in with some odds and ends they donated to charity before moving?
This is the part of the faux-lesbianism debate where we get a glimpse into Don Vito Corleone’s childhood in Sicily, his voyage to America, his adventures in rug-stealing with Clemenza, and the totally awesome way in which he disposed of Don Fanucci. (And that’s not even getting into Michael Corleone’s trip to Havana and his dealings with Hyman Roth, or Fredo’s fatal Johnny Ola slip-up.).
Sorry, I got confused there for a minute. This is the part of the faux-lesbianism debate in which an actual lesbian — Jane Czyzselska, editor of Diva magazine, which is Europe’s answer to Curve — weighs in, managing to do so in a non-sucky way. You know, unlike the Australian article that I complained about so bitterly earlier this week. Czyzselska was responding to Jodie Marsh’s recent declaration that she’s giving lesbianism a whirl.
You’ll never catch Geraldine Granger saying things like that.
There’s more to the story at The Guardian, but this part — this is incredible:
A Church of England vicar could face disciplinary action for saying gay men should have “sodomy” warnings tattooed on their bodies.
The Rev Peter Mullen, who is a parish priest and rector in the City of London, made the remarks on his blog, which has since been removed from the web under an agreement with diocesan officials.
Mullen, 66, wrote it was time for religious believers to recommend the discouragement of homosexual practices in the style of cigarette packet warnings.
“Let us make it obligatory for homosexuals to have their backsides tattooed with the slogan sodomy can seriously damage your health and their chins with fellatio kills.”
What kind of tattoo would he suggest for a parish priest who has nothing better to do with his time than fantasize about the backsides of homosexuals?
Mullen later described his comments as “lighthearted jokes” and maintained that he isn’t prejudiced, saying, “Many of my dear friends have been and are of that persuasion.” Yeah, and from a very young age, his two greatest loves were always Jews and Cuban food.
Does this make anyone else want to rewrite the lyrics to “Vicar in a Tutu?” Maybe something like: “The monkish monsignor/With a head full of plaster/Said, ‘My man, get your ass tattooed.'”
