Gay, Straight or Unwanted?: Amuse-Biatch Refuses to Take One for the Team

Is Sam Talbot gay? Is Sam Talbot gay?

We have from time immemorial adhered to the dictum of Anna Roosevelt Longworth--cousin to that old battleaxe of a dyke, the first (but certainly not the last) lesbian First Lady, Eleanor Roosevelt--when she reportedly said, "If you haven't anything nice to say, come sit by me."

So we are always curious to see how it is that people come to sit by Amuse-Biatch in order to hear the not-nice things we customarily say. Imagine our surprise when Google informed us that disturbingly large numbers of people are coming to the oracular grove of Withering Depths to ask their one pressing question: Is Sam Talbot gay? Is Sam Talbot gay?

We had long ago grown accustomed to the Is Marcel Vigneron gay? question leading people into our debauched, sybilline embrace, but this was something new altogether.

So, is Sam Talbot gay?

A thorny question indeed. Or so we thought. As usual, Miss XaXa cut the Gordian knot with her Southern tongue. "Please. Sam isn't gay. For God's sake, he recognized the lead guitarist for Extreme."

When we looked blank, she sighed and rolled her eyes. "Exactly. They're an obscure rock group that hasn't had a hit since 1991's 'More Than Words.'"

We nodded in awe. "Besides," she added, "even though Sam wears a teeshirt that reads 'Mi Vida Loca'"--which can be loosely translated as "My Life in Faggotry"--"he can't even tell the difference between yellow and green."

Well, that takes care of that. So, great Google searchers, the oracle has spoken: Sam Talbot is not gay, Sam Talbot is not gay.

This got us thinking. And being ever so public-spirited, we decided to do something for the hordes of Google searchers and cherished, head-scratching readers. So once and for all, let us guide you through the list of remaining male cheftestants, just to set your minds at ease.

Cliff Crooks was inordinately and squealingly thrilled to be cooking for former Madonna BFF-cum-fag hag (sorry for the redundancy) Debi Mazar, which didn't look so good for him. But then he described her as "cute." The pendulum swung. And he admitted he's colorblind. That sealed the deal. We have only ever known one gay man who was colorblind, and he turned out to be bisexual, which just goes to show you. The final nail in the coffin? In contrast to Ted Allen, Cliff never once uttered the word "aubergine." Verdict: Straight.

There's Ilan Hall, who sports an earring (wrong ear, though), has a fauxhawk and a rat's-tail (more smug-Williamsburg-hipster-scum than Chelsea boy; both Hedi Slimane and Maddox Jolie-Pitt have long ago given up their fauxhawks, so no self-respecting gay boy would be caught sporting one, much less on Bravo), wears Pepto Bismol-pink pants and shirts (but so do Episcopalian clerics on occasion), walks pigeon-toed (we're not touching that one), likes going to the theatre (hmmmmm), and is positively obsessed with comparing symbolic phalluses and with another guy's cherry (sounds like the military). Verdict: Straight but anxious.

As for Michael "Beer Bong" Midgley, we have two words for you: Puh-leeze. Not even the chubby chasers want him. No need for this one to go to the jury. Summary judgment: Straight as a room-temperature Bud Light.

And then there's Marcel. Oy, where to start? We have very publicly wrestled with this question, as you can read for yourselves in all our posts. (The bit about there being "friendly ladies" in his life, from today's Raggaydy Andy Interview, was an especially nice touch. In some cultures, "friendly ladies" are called beards; in other cultures they're known as "sex workers," and in our country, they go by the name "Katie Holmes.")

For the record, after much deliberation, we have come to the conclusion that Marcel isn't gay, just clueless. But it doesn't much matter, because you know what? We don't want him.

(And while we're at it, we don't want Sam Talbot either. Like Gaytopia needs another greasy-haired, passive-aggressive, smarmy mumbler with grossly inflated self-regard and a penchant for leather wrist bands.)

It's all true, what the fundies say. Incapable as we are of parthenogenesis, we can increase our numbers only by resorting to conversion of innocent straight guys, as well as through the implementation of our diabolical plan to introduce soy products into the American diet. But unlike the U.S. Army in its desperation to meet recruitment quotas, we have some standards. We won't take just anyone.

Just when did "gay" become the fallback position for the socially awkward and the terminally annoying? Gaytopia is not--we repeat, not--the Island of Misfit Boys. Our borders are closed. There's no giant statue of Judy Garland at the entrance holding a microphone-cum-disco ball in her right hand with a plaque reading "Give us your weird, your fucked-up, your huddled misfits yearning to be fab."

So you can keep your Marcels and Sams and Ilans. We refuse to take another one for the team.