Previews: After Tackling Gay Marriage Last Week, Top Chef Tackles the Issue of Gays (Including Seemingly Angry Lesbians) in the Military

Next week’s episode, entitled “Nature vs. Nurture,” will take on the issue of gay adoptions by allowing certain cheftestants to “adopt” another cheftestant’s Elimination Challenge dish, with the judges determining whether the results are “confused” or whether the seasoning is “well-adjusted.” Rosie O’Donnell will be the guest judge.

The following week’s episode, entitled “Three’s a Crowd-Pleaser,” takes up gay monogamy. Cheftestants will cook in teams of two, with some having the option of “opening” up their team to another cheftestant from a past season. Watch the fun as a past season cheftestant bonds with a current season cheftestant and the two put the remaining original teammate up for elimination. Eric “McSteamy” Dane and Rebecca Gayheart will be the special guest judges.  (Our onset spy related that Padma and Rebecca would constantly sneak away during filming, and when they returned to film the tasting scenes, they consumed all the food on the table, as well as the camera plates.)

Amuse-Biatch and the Exuberantly Accusatory Quiescently Frozen Treat

We hailed, and we waited, and waited, and waited, and when the paleta vendor finally arrived, he claimed that the only paleta de leche left was this one.

“A likely story,” we harrumphed.

So, possums, what say ye? One of those little literary coincidences that flesh is heir to? Knowing accusation? Joyous exhortation in anticipation of National Coming Out Day? Or future personal motto? Possums, you decide.

In Fond Memory of Richard Sweeney: “Don’t forget to suck the head; it’s where the best part is”

Top Chef “Yes, We Have No Bananas” Shocker: Lesbian Falls into Semiotic Trap!

Who, you? Yes, you.

It’s no use looking shocked and sheepish. You’ve been found out. How, Preeti, possum, how do you fall into these semiotic traps?

First came the encounter with the Sorting Hat at the start of the Quickfire Challenge, in which you showed the world just how lucky and satisfied your girlfriend—pardon us, your “lady”—must be.

Even your fellow member of this season’s Team Rainbow, who ought to know a thing or two about AshFulk-ing, looks impressed with your technique, the just-so curve of the hand.

Then came the Quickfire Challenge itself, during which you repeatedly admitted that you’d never opened a clam before, which prompted us to yell at the television, “Go on, pull the other one. It’s got bells on it.”

But it wasn’t until we reviewed the premiere episode carefully that we noticed how you’d slipped on a metaphorical banana peel and fallen into the biggest lesbian semiotic trap of all.

Oh, possum, how could you? Didn’t you know that there are cameras everywhere, and that those horrible, basement-dwelling bloggers, who suffer from dirty minds and compulsive screencapping, would be ever at the ready? On the other hand, it was your first day on the show, indeed your first hour, so we’ll cut you a little slack.

Ministry of Silly Talks: Amuse-Biatch Exclusive Interview with Ted Allen

As you might expect, possums, when it comes to the whole “journalism” thing, our style is more Hedda Hopper than Brenda Starr, and so, when Uncle Ted granted us an interview on the occasion of the premiere of Chopped, his new show on the Food Network, what could we do but take up our pad and our mother-of-pearl Mont Blanc, and channel Louella Parsons for all we were worth? We hope you enjoy it, possums; we will always remember the experience, since Ted Allen took our cherries…jubilee.

Amuse-Biatch: Bette, Joan or Madonna?

Ted Allen: Joan Jett.

AB: And speaking of Madonna, you once famously discussed how you would prepare and eat her pal Rupert Everett if ever you were stranded on a desert island with the Brit. If you found yourself on that proverbial island with the increasingly immaterial girl—she’s all gristle now—what cooking technique would you use to render her palatable?

TA: I’m thinking Ciccone au Vin.

AB: Do people get the munchies when they’re within 5 feet of Padma?

TA: Most people I know have the munchies for Padma. Did I ever tell you that I’ve seen her naked? True story: She was changing once during season 4 in Chicago, and, as a gentleman, I respectfully started to leave the room. And she said, “What, are you repulsed by my naked body?” So I gave her the once-over. I’ve been heterosexual ever since.

AB: You recently averred to an incredulous world that Padma Lakshmi’s job as host of Top Chef is harder than it looks. Have you gotten any tips or learned any lessons from Padma for your new gigs?

TA: Yes. If you already hear voices, it’s a bad idea to wear an earpiece. And don’t swap your flip-flops for Louboutins until the cameras are rolling.

AB: Did you know Gail Simmons was Jewish? We were thrilled to learn she was a member of the tribe.

TA: Jewish? I thought she was Canadian.

AB: As you know by now, your spot on the Top Chef judges’ panel was taken by Toby Young. Was it flattering that they couldn’t find anyone fresh, local and sustainable to replace you and had to import someone?

TA: Absolutely.

AB: What does it say when they have to get a Brit to replace a Gay?

TA: What’s the difference?

AB: Toby Young—you could take him, right? (In a fight, we mean.)

TA: We’re both far too polite to hit a guy with glasses.

AB: Has Carson Kressley ever made clothes for your Emmy statue?

TA: No, but Thom [Filicia] uses his as a toilet-paper holder at his lake house. The roll fits perfectly on her wings.

Chopped, Food Network, Tuesdays at 10 p.m. (Clip below courtesy of Food Network)

Amuse-Biatch Über-Homosexual Thursday: New Scallopgate Gets the Hung Jury It Deserves (So Sayeth Nathan Lane)

Preview: Catering, Botulism, AIDS, Martha Stewart, Miss Universe, and Natasha Richardson’s Dead-Gay-Daddy Issues

Yes, possums, this is the episode in which the refrigerator doesn’t work, but human refrigerator Martha Stewart does; in which Fabio poses for clothed pics with a naked-pics-disgraced Miss Universe from Venezuela (beauty queens being the country’s top export along with oil and bad telenovelas), and the chefs cater an event for amfAR hosted by Natasha Richardson.

(Natasha’s daddy, Oscar-winning director Tony Richardson, died of AIDS. Despite being married to Natasha’s mum, Vanessa Redgrave, and leaving her for Jeanne Moreau, the late Mr. Richardson liked bangers with his mash. Of course, it should have been no surprise; trailing after Vanessa Redgrave and Jeanne Moreau is the classy, European arthouse equivalent of marrying Judy Garland and Liza Minnelli (we’re looking at you, Vincente Minnelli, Peter Allen, David Gest). We should know; both Nessie and Jeanne are two of our supreme faves. Speaking of which, for God’s sake, the man was directing Diana bloody Ross in Mahogany (until Berry Gordy took over); can it get gayer than that?

And let us not forget to mention that Vanessa Redgrave’s father and Natasha’s grandfather, Sir Michael Redgrave, also sailed, as the French so charmingly put it, à voile et à vapeur. We remember reading with delight this anecdote in The Guardian: “The billboard outside the Odeon cinema, Leicester Square, said: ‘Michael Redgrave and Dirk Bogarde [another famously closeted British actor, if you’ll forgive all the redundant adjectives] in The Sea Shall Not Have Them.’ Passing by, Noel Coward said: ‘I don't see why not. Everyone else has.’”

Is it any surprise, then, that, perhaps unconsciously, Natasha Richardson herself has married an incredibly desirable man who is also the world’s least likely to go gay, i.e., Liam Neeson? We think not. It all makes sense, possums, and now you have a glimpse into how our minds work when we see Natasha Richardson holding a canapé on a Bravo catering show.)

Oh, and the ever constipated-looking, South Florida chef Michelle Bernstein also appears. Woman, please get some more fiber in your diet.

Amuse-Biatch Photoessay: Alex Eusebio Explains the Difference Between Dominicans, Cubans and Puerto Ricans

Amuse-Biatch Photoessay: Show Toons: Willkommen, Bienvenue, Welcome, Now Get the Hell Out of Here

Fun with Semiotics: New York Post Provides Visual Key to “Top Chef” Season 2

Wayward & Biatchstein Investigate: Little Mozart of the Fryolator Details Dickensian Youth of Child-Labor Law Violations

Possums, we don’t mean to hen-piccata Ryan Scott to death, but really, we can’t help ourselves, since, in trying to paint himself as a boy wonder, boy does he ever make us wonder.

After hearing Ryan boast on the season’s first episode, “I grew up in restaurants, and my parents signed the waiver for me to be able to work in restaurants….At 11, I jumped on the line with my father, and my dad fired two people after the first two or three weeks because I outcooked them at 11,” something didn’t seem quite kosher to us.

Was Ryan, er, breading the story, or had he just accused his father of blatant violations of California child-labor laws?

Part of our confusion stemmed from the fact that the soi-disant wunderkind seemed to be presenting two different narrative strands, Little Lord Fauntleroy of KQED vs. hardscrabble kitchen rat.

In the one, he is the precocious child who happens to have an almost innate love of, and talent for, cooking. To wit:

From Ryan’s Bravo bio: “Ryan zeroed in on his desire to be a chef at the early age of nine when the ‘toys’ at the top of his Christmas list included kitchen utensils, a wok and food dehydrator.”

Aw, ain’t that sweet?

From Ryan’s Bravo video: “I got into cooking from my parents. When I was younger I showed inspiration to cook, so they went ahead and ran with it, went ahead and bought me a wok and a food dehydrator when I was younger. Watching Jacques Pépin and Martin Yan was really stimulating for me as a young child.”

Aw, Lord love PBS!

From an article in The ImModesto Bee: “As a grade-schooler, he would cook his family crazy concoctions, like sloppy chili melts and herb experiments from the garden. Still, no matter the outcome, they supported him and ate his creations.”

Aw, ain’t parents grand?

But wait, at 11 isn’t one a grade-schooler? And if he was making sloppy chili melts and herb experiments at that age, just how proficient was he really when he got those two poor saps fired?

It seems a bit at odds with the impression he tries to give on the show that he grew up in restaurants.

The Bee article says only, “The journey from 10-year-old messing around in the family kitchen to one of the nation's rising culinary stars took Scott across the country. While he still was in elementary school, Scott's family briefly owned a Chubby's restaurant franchise. Then while in high school, the 1999 Los Banos High graduate began working at the Country Waffles breakfast chain.”

Mind you, no mention of being an 11-year-old line cook. And how does the fact that your family “briefly owned a Chubby’s restaurant franchise” while you were in elementary school translate into your having grown up in restaurants?

So did he, or didn’t he? Hard to tell from the available evidence. If he did, it seems plausible that it was at the Chubby’s where he became an 11-year-old line cook.

But if he did, what about the legal issues?

We called upon our dear friend, the lovely, acidic Miss Upton Sinclairol, to see if she could cut through the gnocchi-dense thicket of legal issues. She followed the trail of breadcrumbs and brought us the following information.

The Division of Labor Standards Enforcement of the California Department of Industrial Relations puts out a pamphlet explaining the basics of child-labor laws in California, and which, citing to California Labor Code section 1294.1, states in relevant part that “Minors under 16 MAY NOT be employed or permitted to work in the following occupations in…food service…: Cooking (except at soda fountains, lunch counters, snack bars, or cafeteria serving counters where such cooking is performed in plain sight of customers and is not the minor's only duty); Baking….”

That rather makes it sound like 11-year-old Ryan’s jumping on the line with his father was a prima facie violation of Section 1294.1. Indeed, pursuant to Labor Code section 1294.3(a), you have to be at least 14 years old before you are allowed to perform kitchen work and use “dishwashers, toasters, dumbwaiters, popcorn poppers, milkshake blenders, and coffee grinders.” That sounds like the sort of thing that Ryan’s parents would have “signed the waiver” for (or the job at Country Waffles that the Bee mentions).

Ryan said that his father fired two line cooks “after the first two or three weeks,” which suggests that 11-year-old Ryan was cooking on the line for at least two or three weeks. Labor Code section 1288(a) makes violation of Section 1294.1 a “Class ‘A’ violation” that is “subject to a civil penalty in an amount not less than five thousand dollars ($5,000) and not exceeding ten thousand dollars ($10,000) for each and every violation. Willful or repeated violations shall receive higher civil penalties than those imposed for comparable nonwillful or first violations, not to exceed ten thousand dollars ($10,000).” (emphasis added). Furthermore, Section 1288(c) states that criminal penalties may also be imposed. Ryan, Ryan, Ryan—is that really the kind of trouble you would have wanted to get your daddy into?

In the end, though, possums, we don’t have any definite answers. The current version of the law came into effect in 1993, when Ryan would have been a little older than 11. So it’s conceivable (if extremely unlikely) that prior to 1993, California, the most liberal state in the nation where labor laws are concerned, would have allowed 11-year-olds to serve as line cooks. All we have is a tantalizing question: did the man who used to head Myth Café take the restaurant’s name to heart?

Just in Time for Tonight's Premiere, the Flaming Finally Begins

As you may know, possums, we rather took issue with Bravo’s tagline for Top Chef, “Let the flames begin,” and not just because it was insensitive to Mrs. O’Leary’s cow and the victims of the Great Chicago Fire, but because, with nary a Gay on the show, the tagline was patently engaging in false advertising.

We told Raggaydy Andy in no uncertain terms that he’d better work, and exhorted him to “flambé, chantez.” And giving credit where credit is due, he sho’ and at long last came through.

Pressing Project Runway winner Christian Siriano into service, Andy Cohen unpacked his (rather large, perhaps overcompensatory) knife and went gay.

Click to watch the video in its entirety, but we’ll give those of you with little patience, slow computers, or scant intestinal fortitude a précis of the oh-so-precious pensées:

Siriano tells a complex story about the workings of the oil industry and politics in the Middle East, and a fat George Clooney. Sorry, possums, just a little typo there.

Having dropped “fierce” as a catchphrase, Christian tried out another worn-out old gayitude from decades past: “for days.”

Faux-lesbian Richard Blais’ fauxhawk is “last season’s ‘hawk,” but he does love Jen Biesty’s Lady-‘hawk.

Padma Lakshmi has the skin of an Italian chain restaurant much beloved by Middle Amérique for soup, salad and breadsticks for days.

The lesbian couple? “There’s gonna be, like, hot sauce everywhere.”

Uh, no disrespect to our Sapphic sistahs, but, ewwww.

Bearly There: A Friday-Light Tribute to Tom Colicchio, Howie Kleinberg, Joey Paulino & Dale Levitski

Amuse-Biatch Presents the Tragedy of Christopher Ciccone

Possums, we know full well that everyone is tired of forked-tongued decorator Christopher Ciccone, and we had determined to do no more posts about him, but over the weekend we were having a bitch through Rupert Everett's autobiography, Red Carpets and Other Banana Skins, and we came across an irresistible passage that may help to explain the fact and tragedy of Christopher Ciccone, or how he went from this:

("Oh my God," said Miss XaXa, "he looks like Debbie Gibson threw up all over him." "Well," we reminded her, "as Madonna's back-up dancer he necessarily had to be an electric youth.") to this:

As our story begins, Rupert Everett is attending Donatella Versace's New Year's Eve party in Miami:

"Dessert was being served. A cluster of divas, some of them stars, others not, sat around Donatella at a corner table in the courtyard. The party moved fast around us, the table was a rock, and waves of fruits de mer crashed against it, swelling our numbers from eight to twelve, and then to sixteen. Chairs peeled off in all directions in a swastika for intimate asides over cigarettes and crossed legs, but the undertow on this particular stretch of bitch was strong and soon, they had been swept back out to sea by the acid tongue of Madonna's brother Christopher Ciccone, the glum monosyllabic reply of Guy Ritchie, or the polite but firm dismissal of Gwyneth Paltrow. Madonna smiled graciously to all and sundry, secure in the knowledge that someone else would do the dirty work, and give any unwanted jellyfish 'the old heave-ho.'....

Gwyneth had been flirting with Guy Oseary, the child prodigy who ran Madonna's record company, but that liaison was another thin strand that Gwyneth cut with the brisk cheer of a dignitary opening a new wing of a hospital. 'I name this ship...Over.' It had snapped before the party even began. Actually, she was as thick as thieves with Christopher, and after midnight the two of them danced like whirling dervishes until they wound up slumped and feverish on Donatella's garden couch.

And this was the night that marked the beginning of the end for Christopher and Madonna. They had been inseparable through a trippy childhood in a huge family with a wicked stepmother, and she had taken him with her to the material world, where Christopher had provided a solid raft in the shark-infested waters. And for anyone who came into contact with Madonna, to know her at all you had to know him. The one was incomprehensible without the other. He was her dark side and she was his. People reeled in horror at the mention of his name, because he had a blunt aggressive manner, and he often looked as though he was laughing at you, particularly when he was drunk...But Guy [Ritchie] and Chris were from different planets, and in a way the one's success relied on the other not being there. Also Guy was not particularly comfortable with queens, and so, as the relationship between him and Madonna quickly deepened, it was a last call for a lot of the disco bunnies and club-mix queens that made up the fabric of Madonna's mantle. It was a surprise, because Madonna came out of the womb blowing a disco whistle, but a whole aspect of her life was about to be hit by the delete button."

There you have it: Christopher Ciccone too bitchy and gay for Madonna's husband.

As a bonus, here's Rupert's account of a master class in snubbery from that same party:

"...[S]hortly before midnight, Jennifer Lopez swept into the courtyard on the arm of Benny Medina, her new manager. Donatella got up and walked over to greet her while Gwyneth and Madonna gave two snorts of derision and noisily left the room. The men and Ingrid [Casares] were momentarily flummoxed but followed suit, leaving me and my hairdresser Jamie alone at the table. It could have been a moment from The Women....

Jennifer had given a rather startling interview a few weeks earlier, one of her best, as a matter of fact, where she had regally dished all and sundry, saying, among other things, that Madonna couldn't sing and that Gwyneth couldn't act. This broke an unwritten Hollywood law. Think it but never say it....

[E]veryone there at the party that night adored the drama. They were visibly shaking with the thrill of it, and so were the girls in question. They were like ducks during a rainstorm, preening, stretching their wings, shaking themselves and quacking. Jennifer sat with Benny, holding a beatific smile in place for longer than a porno star keeps an erection. Gwyneth and Madonna huddled around Donatella's garden couch like bullies from the upper sixth....Jamie and I locked ourselves into a bathroom with Donatella, a bodyguard at the door, and informed the rest of the world what was going on outside. We popped out briefly for midnight and then went back to the bunker like war journalists to phone in the latest explosion."

Vagaries of Cruel Fête: After Being Ousted from "Top Chef," Katie Lee Joel Uncovers Further Evidence That Cream Does Not Rise to the Top

Following her exit as Top Chef hostess after the first season, we had heard nary a peep about Mrs. Piano Man, Katie Lee Joel. Her role as wooden-faced child bride was taken by another.

We speak, of course, of Katie Holmes.

But now comes word of Mrs. Joel, and it ain't so good.

Oh possums, Sean Combs huffed and Puff'd and blew down her house of cards. According to TMZ, Puff Daddy threw her out of his party for not being sufficiently white. As Miss XaXa put it, "Oh no, he Diddy'nt!"

Well, he did. In all fairness, though, this reverse discrimination came at Puffy's annual White Party (not to be confused with the one in Palm Springs, although, given what happened to Mrs. Joel, one does wonder), when Katie Lee showed up wearing cream, not white.

Mrs. Joel was requested to "change her outfit in order to attend the fete," but she hightailed it home instead. As those sibylline fonts of wisdom from Bananarama put, it's a cruel, cruel summer indeed, leaving her there on her own.

It Don't Mean a Thing If It Ain't Got That Swing: Does the Recipe for Brian Malarkey's Seafood Sausage Include Both Oysters and Geoduck?

As we all know, possums, Brian "Asshat" Malarkey looks like he walked out of the film Swingers, but is he one?

That is the question left in our mind by his wife's MySpace page.

Now, possums, normally we don't use the cheftestants' relatives as a subject, except when they might tell us something interesting about the person in the competition. We definitely think this is one such case.

Let's say your husband is a respected and affable seafood chef with an asinine collection of hats, and that he gets selected to be a contestant on "cable's #1 food show," where he is doing well and attracting national attention for his cooking and his good looks, which could lead to bigger and better things for him, and, indeed, for both of you.

And let's say you take to your very public MySpace page (which your sister-in-law reads) and do the following:

* List among your general interests "BLODDY [sic] MARYS," "XXXBowling," "FULL SERVICE," and "COWBOYS"

* List among your favorite books "Sex Signs," "GOOD IN BED," "THE KAMA SUTRA," "'Aqua' Erotica," "karma 101," and "*MONOGAMY*"

* List among your heroes "SUCCESSFUL CHEFS IN HAPPY MARRIAGES"

Well, and what of it, possums? It may be in questionable taste, but it doesn't necessarily reflect on your husband, right?











So why, then, (as shown by the screencap above) would you go and include a link to a group you belong to, "MFM In San Diego"?

Now, when we first saw Brian on our television screen in June, our gaydar went off. Of course, as we're the first to admit, our 'dar is often confused by Mormons and Canadians, so a thumb-ring-wearing pretty boy from the Northwest was very likely to provide a false positive. And, indeed, as we have seen, Brian is married. Senator Larry Craig notwithstanding, our suspicion was laid to rest.

So imagine our surprise when, as advised by Amuse-Biatch reader CB, we clicked on the "MFM In San Diego" link on Brian's wife's MySpace. There was a pop-up advising us that the site we were trying to visit contained adult material not suitable for those under 18 years of age. Oh dear. And once we had grudgingly admitted that we are, indeed, over 18, we fell upon a cyber-gathering place for people seeking threesomes. Of the male-female-male variety.

"Ohhh," said Miss Xaxa, "hence the 'MFM'. Well, wasn't that show Two Guys and a Girl about a restaurant?"

We couldn't reply, so stunned were we by the possibility that our gaydar might not have been so wrong in the first place. So it appears that Brian's wife belongs to a MySpace group where people advertise for guy-on-guy-on-girl action.

All at once, Mrs. Malarkey's list of heroes, reading material and general interests began to seem very interesting indeed.

Of course, the blasé Miss XaXa wasn't really surprised: "Did you see the powder-blue pants? He wore them on the show, he wears them on her page, and they tell you everything you need to know."

Afternoon Update:

First, early in the day, Mrs. Malarkey changed her MySpace profile thus: (1) corrected the spelling of "bloody Mary," (2) changed her "designation" from "Black Magic" to "Team Malarkey," and (3) deleted all the book titles cited above, except for "karma 101," but left the reference to the MFM group intact (thank heaven for screencaps).

Now, Mrs. Malarkey's profile has been made private.

Jowly Green Giant Wins Frozen-Food Challenge (Natch), Comes Out as One of the Ungay (Snatch)

Possums, the Ungay--they walk among us.

We learned this from our pal Lesley at Eater LA, who in turn learned it during her exclusive interview with the Jowly Green Giant, CJ Jacobson:

You mentioned that a friend told you someone in a chat room asked if you're gay. They actually said, "So is this tall drink of water gay?"

Those fuckers. I almost have a problem being too ungay.

"Oh no he di'in't," we thought to ourselves.

"Fee fi fo fum, I smell the blood of an insecure man," said Miss XaXa, snapping her fingers in her best RuPaul.

Well, actually, we were confused more than outraged by his statement, so much so that we tried to diagram the sentence on the back of an envelope, just the way Mrs. McDougal taught us when we were wee bairns, new to this country and learning the lingo. All to no avail.

As we have mentioned before, CJ has the most peculiar and interesting syntax and vocabulary, well worthy of study if representative of SoCal surfers and volleyball players, something along the lines of, "The Crawfish Fell Awry: A Study of Fricatives and Metaphors Among the Tribes of Palos Verdes."

But this statement is just a masterpiece. We start with "ungay," and figure he must mean "straight," and then "too"--too straight? Is that possible? And then he has a problem with being too straight? Does that mean being too straight, whatever that means, gets him into trouble? Or does it mean that he has difficulty being too straight? Oh, but wait, there's another modifier. He almost has a problem. So does that mean he is too straight, but doesn't have a problem? It's enough to make Wittgenstein (who was gay) weep and say, "Told you so."

"Please stop; my head hurts," pleaded Miss XaXa. She gets worried when she sees that gleam in our eye, a worry that was not dispelled when we argued that CJ's statement is actually a publicist's goldmine, and that he ought to license it for use by high-profile Hollywood actors, so that when anyone goes asking questions of, oh, say, Tom Cruise, John Travolta, Wentworth Miller, or Jake Gyllenhaal, they can all say, "I almost have a problem being too ungay." It's genius, chloroform in verbal form.

We turned for enlightenment and analgesia to UrbanDictionary.com:

1. Ungay

(or Un-gay) Heterosexual

Don't trust him, after all he's one of the ungay!

2. Ungay

(Pronoun, adj.) equivalent to the words "undead" and "zombie", however, used to describe a zombie which is gay. Also may be used to define a homosexual who has crossed over to the straight world. The word originated one late night at a Dennys in San Diego, 2002, during a topic about independent zombie films.

This town has been overrun by the Ungay! They rose from their graves and started humping everybody!

3. Ungay

To make less gay.
To make straight.

That remake of Straight Up by Halifax is way better than the original. It's ungayed.

4. Ungay

an action taken by people to try to correct their previous sentences from sounding gay or gayish. often ends up in no avail.
(usually implied in instant messages and chatrooms)

(C and E are guys)
C : why didn't you bring your phone, at least the vibrations will wke you up.
C : *realises and begins process of ungay-ing. oh shit, i mean the vibration in your pocket when you receive messages
E: wtf?

Ok, so CJ's not gay. He's a zombie. Well, that clears things up.

Then we remembered CJ's exchange with Howie on the last episode, where Howie looked like even more of a "douche" (another favorite terms of the PalosVerdians) because he, like, didn't get that, like, OC good ole boy CJ was, like, being sarcastic.

"Well, maybe he was joking," we said to Miss XaXa. "Perhaps we ought to give him the benefit of the doubt."

"As long as we know that we don't want Don't Ask, Don't Tell turning into Don't Ask the Tall."

OK, CJ, so you got the benefit of the doubt. But just in case, the Feather Boa Brigade and the Glitter Squadron are on standby and ready to attack the Beanstalk and the Magic Beans. Ok, Magic Bean.

Sam I Am? Wayward & Biatchstein Investigate

From Sam Talbot's latest blog:

What have I been doing?

...I'm also working on a book with my boy...Meeting as many people as I can. Buying too many pairs of shoes....

Completely Heterosexual, South Beach-Bound Ilan Hall Proves That Pink Shoelaces and White Louis Vuitton Don't Make You Gay

Oh, possums, there are times when, sitting in our dank basements, we shake with a palsy of envy and rage, and this is one of them. Our boy Ilan Hall was spotted en route to heterosexual mecca South Beach spotting pink shoelaces, a white (!) Louis Vuitton belt with a candy-colored (!) logo, a Louis Vuitton duffel bag, and a white Patek Philippe watch encrusted with close to 50 diamonds and valued at over $10,000. All of this while we basement-dwellers must gnaw on raw turnips and try to forget our agoraphobia by trying to knock down the blessed. Oh, H.G. Wells, where art thou?

Actually, we have a more pressing question: Is the Louis Vuitton bag the same one The New York Observer spotted last week, and which Ilan tried to pass off as a Gucci, or is there a Gucci bag in addition to the Louis Vuitton? Inquiring gay minds (and Marc Jacobs) want to know.