Exclusive!

Lynette Taylor is one of my new favorite people. If you haven't seen her interview on Larry King, you need to.

The biggest reason why she's my new favorite person is what she represents. She represents broken barriers in the American Football and Political system. In this interview, and in others, she showcases her unique view of the world in a charmingly eloquent fashion.

While commenting on her husbands rape allegations she decided to get political and say something that is on all of our minds.

"I don't understand why we're destroying the Earth to get to Jupiter, that doesn't make sense to me."

Exactly. How Lyenette reached into the heart of society and plucked out that statement, we will never know. But something even more profound is afoot here and this blog is about the break this exclusive story, sure to shatter America's view on sports and politics.

Lynette Taylor does not really exist. Lynette Taylor is actually Alvin Greene, a candiate for a US Senate seat in South Carolina. If you look at their photos up close, you can see that the illusion is gone.



Why else do you think there was suspicion surrounding his candidacy? Because he was fucking moolighting as an NFL player's wife!

But what does a relatively unknown candiate for Senate have to gain by assuming the identity of a NFL player's wife? The answer is simple: world peace. Because being a Senator for South Carolina comes with some pretty sweet resources, and being an NFL Player's wife comes with some pretty sweet resources. With her combined powers as a Senator and an NFL player's wife, she could hire enough Mexicans to make an entire legion of Alvin Greene action figures, the profits of which she'd give to help Haiti, considering someone lost 95% of the money given to them. No one before Alvinette thought of combining those two roles into one and harvesting the potential for a good cause. Alvinette represents a new form of hero for America. One who looks at the big picture and says "I got this shit!" One who, against all odds, tells his country, "No. If I can dream about being half-man, half-senator, half-NFL player's wife, ALL at the same time, than I can BE half-man, half-senator, and half-NFL player's wife, ALL at the same time. I do what I want!"

Although his cover has been blown, his resolve and integrity as a he-she is more than intact. Its shining brightly like the razor hidden in his cleavage when reflecting studio lights. Shine on, my friend. Shine on.

Puking American Dreams.

On July 14th, 2010, at approximately 4:17pm, while sitting in a computer chair at his internship, for no particular reason at all, 22 year old Kyle Hafkey collapsed. He was rushed to the hospital where doctors thought they were dealing with a garden variety heart attack, but after an MRI scan revealed a mass on his heart they began to fear the worst. This piece was no ordinary piece of heart; it was a section that had become overgrown and cancerous. Experts are speculating that this is just one of many cases of heart cancer linked to radiation caused by Hollywood. When asked about its connections to massive amounts of deadly radiation, Hollywood representatives had this to say:

"Our hearts go out to Mr. Hafkey and we wish him a speedy recovery. As for the accusations that we knowingly pump toxic radiation into the minds and hearts of Americans, they are completely unfounded. We just do our best to create meaningful stories for the public; stories that the public can relate and relax with. We just want to entertain."

Doctors removed the mass and a quater of surrounding tissue from Hafkey's heart. Doctors say that Hafkey is one of the lucky ones, and had they not removed this mass now it could've proven fatal later on. Hafkey must now relearn how to feel in certain areas, and even relearn how to read and write. Hafkey released a comment after Hollywood refused to take the blame, "There's no doubt in my mind that Hollywood is committing horrendous acts of radiation pollution; pollution that is actively doing damage to our bodies and minds. I do not, however, think that Hollywood is aware that this is going on. They said in their statement that they just want to entertain. The truth is they just want to make money, and sadly this radiation is a runoff biproduct of what they create."

Hollywood has declined to comment any further on the matter.

But what are your thoughts?

Why not?

There's an emptiness growing inside me. A void.

A void that can only be filled by Venomsaurus Rex!

Psychic Paranoia.

I'm currently working at a company that produces reality TV shows. Just now my boss came up to me and told me about this guy she just got off the phone with who wants his own show. Apparently, he's a world renowned "mentalist" who specializes in hypnosis, using the power of suggestion over people, and judging from his website, using those powers to commit statutory rape.

Sorry, but I've read WAY too many comic books to be impressed by the powers of Isreal Mandrake. As paranoid as this sounds, I would not be comfortable having someone who claims to have "influence" over people on my set, let alone give him his own TV show. Whose to say that this isn't all part of his plan? Maybe he got the meeting with my boss by using his powers to pull some strings, grease the mental wheels, and get the psychic ball rolling? I know we all create our own reality, but what if this guy is manipulating our reality via our brains, with the goal of getting his own reality TV show? If I've learned one thing at this office, its that people will do ANYTHING to get on reality TV. ANYTHING!

I recall there being a hypnotist at my Senior Prom after party, and he called a bunch of us on stage to hypnotize us. But before he could hypnotize us, he had to test which of us were most susceptible to hypnosis. Needless to say, my Dana SKULLy was far too dense and skeptical to be penetrated. I'll wear my hard head as a badge of courage when Isreal Mandrake uses his mind control powers to seize control of the company and one day THE WORLD. After all, it'll be up to me, the lowly intern, to stab him in the heart with a stake and submerge his dismembered body in the four corners of the Earth. Right? Right?

Masta-DANCE!

In case you didn't notice, Walter Jones is donning drag in order to play his Grandma. But its totally not gay because in the next scene he bro-fully grabs Austin St. John in a show of bro-tastic friendship. All of this leads up to a totally not gay display of Austin St. John's rippling muscles twirling about the room, teasing Walter Jones' quivering skin with the thought of propelled Red Ranger sweat beads. The Yellow Ranger is also in it, I think.

In the end, this video teaches us a valuable lesson: Every problem, even an abusive relationship, can be solved by a dance off. Nothing says "I'm defending your honor as a woman" like having her misogynist boyfriend slide effortlessly through your legs.

P.S. Racism doesn't exist.

CULLENISM?! Are you kidding me?!

I couldn't believe such a thing existed, but yes, it does. It has it's own Urban Dictionary page, a page on WikiBin, and some modern intellectual took it upon herself to bring this page to the needy masses.

Now as someone who has devoted a good portion of his life to fantasizing about being a Jedi (and sometimes a Sith), I know that I am probably the last person who should judge these people. As a matter of fact, there are several ideologies from Star Wars that I have integrated into my life, almost as a sort of creed. One could argue that I have used Star Wars as a platform for my own agnostic view of the world and God. However I believe that there are many differences between how I integrated some of The Force philosophy into my life, and straight up Cullensim. First and foremost, Star Wars is one of the most awe inspiring stories ever told. Its gravitas has crossed generations, genders, races, religions, and socioeconomic statuses. Twilight was written by a crazy Mormon housewife, with a 4th grade understanding of grammar, who tickled her pickle to vamp-erotica on FanFiction.net. Twilight would not have been a success if it weren't for a niche market of batshit insane hormone sacks, commonly known as teenage girls. I'm not going to argue that George Lucas isn't as big a D-Bag as Stephanie Meyer. He is just as big a D-Bag. In fact, I think Lucas and Meyer would get along famously because they both share a fierce love for shallow storytelling. The only reason IV, V, VI were any success was because Lucas was an amateur filmmaker at the time, who had to succumb to the will everyone the studio put around him. Thankfully, incredibly talented professionals like Lawrence Kasden, Irvin Kershner, Leigh Brackett, and Gary Kurtz were placed around him. One only needs to look at the Star Wars Prequals to see what happens when Lucas has total creative control. I'm sure Meyer, and most of her fans, are bigger fans of the Star Wars prequals because they "center around a story of dark love, pretty waving lightsaber colors, n' stuff n' junk."


"A college education won't save you, Bella. ONLY MY PENIS CAN DO THAT!!!"
-Edward Cullen

Secondly, I understand that Star Wars is a movie. Believe me, I have lamented over this fact many a lonely night. But the concept of The Force is real to me because its an abstract concept. I choose to ignore the prequals ham-handed explanation of "midichlorians in our cells whispering to the Force" because that was like a giant, soppy, cock slap to my childhood and it ruins the mystery set up by the Originals. The Force is life. And Yoda's explanation of The Force on Degobah had more of an effect on me than any religious service I've ever attended. Its a vague ideology that can be applied to many religions, even existentialism. The Force is based around the concept that everything is connected, and we should experience the world with a clear mind and an open heart. BUT! I don't get down on one knee and pray to the prophet Yoda. He's a fucking puppet voiced by Frank Oz. He is not real. The Cullens are not real. Yoda will never teach me, and the Cullens will never think you're totally awesome. And worse yet, you will never be as cool as The Cullens because the Cullens are POORLY WRITTEN characters. In the world of character portraits, pretty much everyone in those books might as well be a stick figure. You should be overjoyed at the fact that you will never know anyone as dull as the Cullens. Ask yourself this: if the Cullens weren't vampires, would you still want to be BFF with them? If the Cullens weren't composed of strikingly attractive people, would you still want to be in their club? If they didn't have the suuuper cool zippidy-doo-daa speed, would you still hopelessly seek their approval? Probably not, because these are people whose entire existence is centered around being vampires (and baseball players? WTF?).

I'll bring up Star Wars one last time (rule of 3's and all). There are no doubt people who have attempted, or currently are apart of, some kind of Star Wars Fan Church. And that's their choice, just as much as its the Cullenists choice to form a religion based on the Cullens. If I were the Catholic Church, I would support and sanctify all of these religious institutions based solely on the fact that they would promote abstinence (because NO ONE is hittin' that shit). But religion should be based on a spiritual journey within yourself, and if some concepts from a book or a movie give you momentum down that path, than all the power to ya. But don't customize your spiritual path with posters of Taylor Lautner's gratuitous abs, because that cheapens the experience.


The object of your masturbation - minus five years.

The only one who should profit over your enlightenment is YOU. Which is why I keep my crazy Force like views to myself. I give money to Lucas Arts because I'm a fan, and I openly admit to a little escapism from time to time. I'm rooted in reality. The only people who are being bettered by Cullenism are the people who stand to make money off of the Twilight franchise! Their stock will go up because this crazy ass cult and it notoriety. This Cullenism seems to be a culmination of every negative thing I saw in Twilight, but what every friend of mine whose a fan of Twilight assured me wouldn't happen: young girls confusing Twilight with reality. In doing so, they have become just as diluted as their male counterparts who, by the time they're 13, already think they're entitled to the totally gorgeous babe even if they're only semi-decent looking with a piss poor personality. Women are supposed to be the SMARTER SEX! The sex that sees men's lechery as something to use against them, not emulate! There is no Edward Cullen. Odds are, if your self-esteem is low enough to accommodate fantasies of Edward Cullen to the point of a religious experience, you will NEVER get with someone that attractive or interesting (unless its a pity fuck...). And worst of all, you expect to be objectified in your relationships! Seriously, where the fuck is Buffy Summers when you need her? Because these bitches need a positive female role model RIGHT, the fuck, NOW.

My only hope is that its easier to get out of Cullensim than Scientology.

The holy funny.

I was doing an open mic last night and something fantastic happened that totally blind sided me. One of the earlier comics talked about Stephen Hawking's proposal to time travel by manipulating the theory of relativity, and I wrote a joke about it on a whim. I went up a good hour after said comic left, but I decided I was going to tell the joke I wrote in response to his earlier bit, despite the fact that he was gone. Due to my unyielding fear of bit stealing, I won't retell the joke exactly. But to make a long story short, I told a joke that I thought of one way, but the audience took it a totally different way, and this misunderstanding just made the joke THAT much more hilarious. I told a joke that I was expecting to be a 6 or 7, but unintentionally turned it into gold. The feeling that I experienced afterward was nothing short of bliss. This is why I love comedy. Moments of sheer joy for the audience and the performer spring forward out of nothingness, and the world seems brighter.

I read once that the universe is mostly composed of darkness and space, and that light from stars, galaxies, and novas is quite few and far between. I feel like comedy is an Earthbound reflection of that. Our days are composed of monotony and social expectations, but comedy comes along and makes light out of nowhere.

I apologize for the hippidy-dippity wording here, but in all honesty, having that happen to me was like a religious experience. I felt like sharing.

French Safe Sex Commercial

I don't think the French get being gay.

This commercial does not convey the importance of safe sex to me. To me, this commercial says "if you're a boyish looking transient whore, and you get the life beaten out of you, you'll find the man of your dreams (spoiler alert! He'll be a doctor, too!)"

Maybe this is just my frustration talking. Sometimes I feel like the queer equivalent to the self righteous neo-feminist archetype who has to find social issues in EVERYTHING. It stems from not feeling represented; from not fitting in within your own minority. Gays go apeshit when it comes to labeling things. Top, bottom, vers, fem, masculine, bear, chub, cub, twink, otter, jock, musclebear, Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte, Miranda, the list goes on. Everything has to have its own place; its own hierarchy and organizational ideology. And yes, labeling exists elsewhere in the world, but I feel like gays put an unusual amount of stock in the labels they've created within their own community. Tops are assertive, bears are nasty in bed, twinks are bitches, jocks are shallow, are all assumptions popularly made by being associated with a certain label. What I want to know is how much of it is based on honest trends in a subcultures behavior, and how much of it is a self fulfilled prophecy created to fit into a niche culture.

And I suppose what makes me even more frustrated with all this nonsense, is that 90% of all these labels are based off of the body. As a kid with body issues, being judged and categorized on my body type is a sensitive subject. Even after I lost a significant amount of weight as a teenager, I still knew that the likelihood of me ever being shirtless on the cover of Men's Health was on par with monkeys flying out of my butt. But rather than let this get me down, I did the next best thing. I began sculpting my mind into something to be desired; something unique and fresh that most may not expect. And for a while I was really happy with my results. Even though the rough impact of colliding with the real world made me temporarily relaps into a state of bitterness, I bounced back. But now that I'm congealing into an adult form, I'm seeing more clearly, day by day, that all of that work doesn't really matter to 90% of those who share my sexuality. So now I'm just the funny, kinda fat, gay friend, who is scared to death of being associated with the likes of this:



Do you see the distinction?

For all the labels the gay community can dish out, there doesn't seem to be one for me. And I really pity those who choose to live their lives within the perimeters of a label.

Don't be a fool. And wrap your tool.

Sir Patrick Stewart of Alderaan.

Queen Elizabeth: Sorry, Stewart. Star Wars FTW.

This is the second time I've posted a photoshopped picture of an old woman wielding a legendary sword. If I can get one of Venessa Redgrave holding the Narsil I'll die a happy man. I'd also settle for Dame Maggie Smith pulling out The Master Sword.

In honor of Rue's passing, I'm going to send some truth to ya'll...

Betty White for the WIN.

I'm actually weeping on the inside. Blanche was my second favorite Golden Girl. I'm going to have to take off work when Betty White dies. I'll walk around all day and night with sunglasses on and put black vales over my mirrors. I'll have to buy an extra session with my therapist (If I can afford a therapist by then). I don't care. Its going to be the worst.

RIP Rue. We never met, so its totally inappropriate for me to be on a first name basis with you. That is all.

This isn't what I ordered.

I give mad props to McDonalds for reaching out to the gay community. And they did it in a tasteful way. I'm glad that they scrapped my idea of having a Big Mac strapped in a leather harness dancing to "Sandstorm" because that would've just been silly. However, I can't help but feel that this ad campaign is ham-handed. I think there are a lot more subtle, classy ways of marketing McDonalds to gays.

Before I get into anything else, I need to say something directly to McDonalds: "You're fighting a lost cause. No, gay rights is not a lost cause, but thinking gays will eat McDonalds at all is just a pipe dream. We know you're trying really hard to impress us, but it is just not going to work out. You can sit with us at the lunch table, but you can't speak to us. You just have way to many carbs and saturated fats to be our friend."

Phew. I'm glad that awkward conversation is over. Back to my criticism of the commercial, I just think it could've been done differently. Maybe its because I had it relatively easy in terms of coming out. My Mom has always been incredibly supportive, there was no rift created when I came out, and I felt secure about my sexuality. There was never a "I'm straight, but maybe I'm gay" moment. I always knew I liked boys. The turning point came when I found out that liking boys was frowned upon, and that was when I went in the closet. I guess what I'm trying to say is, I'm over it. I'm over the media dramatizing the "coming out" moment or the "not telling" moments that come with being gay. Its as if the world thinks that's all gay people do with their time: coming out to their family members and complaining about being discriminated against. If McDonalds really wants to get progressive with gay audiences, they need to do what "Modern Family" and "Caprica" are doing. Number 1, they're showing gay FAMILIES. Number 2, they're showing gay people in situations that aren't defined by their gayness. Its like the test that lesbian made up in the 70s to see if a movie is progressive towards women; not feminist, just progressive. John August mentioned it on his blog recently. It says that the movie needs to star at least two women, those two women need to have spoken to one another, and what they spoke of needs to be something other than a man. Like how movies tend to make female characters driven by the needs of men, movies/TV have tended to make gay characters driven by the needs of sex or acceptance.

Also, just from a narrative stand point, this commercial is just CLUNKY. Why does the guy have a class picture out at McDonalds? Is this 8x10 just something he carries around with him when he goes to McDonalds with his Dad? Also, how does the Dad go from grabbing his french fries to talking about his "glory days" as a ladies man and how HE could've been a ladies man if only he hadn't gone to an all boys school? Its just an inorganic twist and I don't like it. I'm more geared to hate on the commercial for its clunky dialogue than its clunky concept. For a gay FRENCH commericial you'd think it'd at least be witty. But no.

And he eat the poo poo!

I love this guy, because he is basically doing all the work for me. I could not have written a better parody of him or his ridiculous cause. No one could. Stuff like this is too genius for words.

Also, last time I checked, straight people were into scat play as well. It was two women starring in the infamous Two Girls One Cup. I mean, even though I was in a self induced coma at the time, watching the computer screen via my astral form because it was too much for my body to handle, I still didn't see two men doing that shit. Literally. I'm also 99.9% sure that the Cleveland Steamer, Glass Bottom Boat, and Alaskan Pipeline were invented straight people. Whenever I watched Real Sex on HBO, it was always some creepy couple from Nevada that was always into the risky poopy, bloody, bondagey play. It was never the happy gay couple down the street who just wants to shop at J. Crew in peace. The world is made up of a heterosexual majority. Where do you think we learned our crazy anal sex play from? Ancient homosexual hieroglyphics? Or is it somehow engraved into our Queer DNA to eat poo poo? Seriously. Who pooped in the gene pool?

Yes, poop is unfortunately a part of being gay because anal sex happens more often than with straight couples (even though straight couples do it too, god damn it!). And I'm not going to dive into how poop isn't always the case when anal sex is involved when the right precautions are taken. The crux of this guy's argument against homosexuality is POOP! A 1940's comedian would be the first to say that "this guys argument STINKS!" This guy literally sat around for hours crafting this argument, masturbat- I mean- researching, gay sex acts with an emphasis on "da poo poo." This is his life! I mean, how funny is that?!

As funny as this video is, there is an element of terror that I feel as well. Its an uncouth mix of immature chuckles about "da poo poo" and nervous giggles trying to diffuse the creeping fear I have in my heart over knowing that people like this live on the planet. Storm would be ashamed of you.

Let's just pretend I'm good at this.

http://io9.com/5549613/the-last-thing-spider+man-should-be-is-another-white-guy

When I first saw this article, I assumed the worst. And by the worst, I mean an uppity, overly sensitive bitch and moan session about how Marvel is racist for not drag and dropping an African American in the Spidey-suit. But I was pleasantly surprised by this article because it brought up an excellent point. Peter Parker was never a character defined by his whiteness. He is a character who is defined by the people he cares about, and the choices he makes to protect them. Spider-Man's biggest weakness was Peter Parker's greatest strength; his ability to love, and hold onto those relationships that mean something to him. Peter's refusal of the Superhero Sacrifice is what makes that book. And I'm pretty sure I'd go see that movie reboot whether Aunt May is cooking chicken casserole, tamales, or collard greens. On that note, I think they should cast racially blind and just see who who captures that snark we've come to expect from Spider-Man. That was what was really missing from Toby Maguire's "performance." Bottom line, I don't care what race the rebooted Spider-Man is, I just hope they get an actor who doesn't have this face in his repertoire.



I'm working two internships. One is with a Hollywood director and I'm unsure about saying his name on public forums such as this. And its not a testament to his fame or anything, he's C-List at best. I just know that he's vain enough to google himself regularly and the last thing I want is for him to find his name on my donk-and-poney blog where I regale my legions of fans with tales of getting his prescriptions for Valtrex filled (That's a pill for when you get the herps, FYI). Overall, I'm not learning much at that internship. It mostly consists of me sitting in the kitchen with the other two interns scouring the internet for images that coincide with director projects he wants to work on. He also has had me read a couple scripts and do coverage, and let me tell ya, I know I'm not the greatest writer on Earth, but God damn. If these scripts are indicative of the work done by paid, Hollywood writers, then I'm going to take this town by storm in less than five years. Let me explain. This is not a testament to my amazing writing style or unique voice; its a testament to the horrible material I've seen swirl around the toilet that is this town. If I read one more haunted house script about a woman being haunted by a creepy little girl ghost, I'm going to go bat-shit insane.

My second internship is at a prominent reality TV production company. I'm really enjoying my time at this internship, actually. Its a busy office and I'm learning a lot. The people are super friendly and down to Earth, and when I'm not doing little tasks around the office for people I'm watching TV and writing coverage about what I see.

I'm slowly widdleing away at my savings, so I'm only going to keep up this "no pay work" thing for a month or two longer. Until then I'm keeping myself busy. Totally overbooking yourself is a fantastic way to forget you're sprinting towards debt.

It LIVES!

Alas, I am back. My little hiatus was brought on by a sense of stage fright. My overall purpose for this blog was to chronicle my experiences as a struggling writer trying to adjust to LA and what not. The only trouble was... I wasn't in LA yet! So rather than bore all three of you, and bore myself with stories of how lame the suburbs of Chicago are, or how my Mom believes my cat to be a homosexual, I chose to forgo blogging until I completed the move.

WHICH I HAVE! I'm sitting in a Starbucks on Ventura Ave because that's what fancy writers with MacBooks do in LA. We sit at Starbucks and get off on people watching us write. We're like narrative exhibitionists. This is true for those of us writers who are in our hearts, failed actors. We still get the attention (even if it's in our minds) but we can eat all the glazed donuts we want cause no one looks at the writers! Horray! The system works. True to the core writers are way to nervous and jittery to even contemplate leaving the safety of their computer chair let alone go to Starbucks. A perfect example of this is Alan Moore. Take a look at this guy. He wrote some of the most prolific and awe inspiring graphic novels of all time; Watchmen, V for Vendetta, The League of Extraordinary Gentleman. But he doesn't seem like the kind of guy you'd see waiting in line behind you at Crate and Barrel. Alan Moore is a few bloodstains away from being that asshole who works at a haunted house and creeps up behind you, waiting for you to turn around. But his giant crumb trap and deep set eyes, withered from years of staring at computer screens and blank paper, are like creepy badges of courage in my eyes. There's integrity in that anarchist's face; an integrity that I admire. And even though I'd call security on him if I saw him at an airport, I'd respect him still. This is the TRUE face of every writer. Whether you be an exhibitionist like myself, or a rodent like recluse watching people through your Venetian blinds, this is what we all look like on the inside. Aren't we pretty?