Why, even the muggers are off
The streets by eight

Oh, relax, y’all. I’m still alive. Bikram yoga hasn’t killed me yet, tho it is seriously cramping my style.

How so?

From the Bikram Web site:

You might find yourself feeling extremely energetic and experience difficulty sleeping. Don’t worry—you don’t have insomnia. You just have more time to do the things you enjoy.

OK yeah but see at night what I enjoy is sleeping. I don’t care to stay up late. Or get up early. There are plenty of hours in a day for me to do all the things I need to do. After my first yoga class I said cheerfully to myself, “I may have broken my torso, but I’ll sleep good tonight!” So imagine my distress when, at 2:25, I was wide awake, filled with useless, stupid energy.

And terror.

Because it’s 2:25. THE WITCHING HOUR! Look, I don’t really know when or even what The Witching Hour is, but when I was a kid (and, apparently, still), the scary hours of nighttime were between midnight and four AM. Right? I always felt like if I woke up after 4, yes, it was still dark, but nothing bad would happen. Too close to daylight. But 2:25? That’s killin’ time.

I blame my chiropractor for my increased night terrors. At every appointment we talk excitedly of our favorite horror movies, describing the scariest scenes, goriest murders, and most unnerving and disturbing moments. Last week he told me about an especially creepy Tales of the Crypt episode.

“Can I stay here today?” I asked in a quavering voice. The thought of returning to my empty house, probably now filled with paranormal entities and homicidal Santa Clauses, was unappealing to say the least.

Also not helping matters, I think we have a Blair Witch fan. The fan sits atop a wicker hamper, and every so often, I hear a crackling noise coming from its vicinity. The fan is obviously moving around on the hamper. No way am I going over there to check out the noise, but I have actually been brave enough to sit up in bed and look at it. Nothing. Then, when I lie back down and try to calm my breathing . . . “crackle crackle crackle.”

Damn.

So I lie there, energized and terrified. It’s not a good combination. I could get up and watch TV, but what if that Tales of the Crypt episode is on EVERY CHANNEL? It could happen.

I finally felt my body start to relax around 4:05 AM. You know how as you’re falling into a light sleep, you get these bizarre thoughts that pop into your head? Thoughts that can sound like voices? Voices that are so real? And scary?

As I slipped into a troubled doze, a thought-voice whispered in my ear:

If you look over the fence, you can see they’re only cooking boys.

Yeah. I think I’ll just get up. I have things to do.

But I know I’m gonna change that tune,
When I’m back on top, back on top in June

It’s been like Freaky Friday over here in I Do Things Land.

For years, I’ve nagged my mom to watch American Idol, and she has steadfastly refused. Then all of the sudden, she became a rabid fan, and I totally lost interest.

Freaky, right?

Wrong. When you consider that contestant/finalist/winner Lee DeWyze is from my mom’s hometown of Mt. Prospect, it only makes sense that she’d become a fan. Me, I had nothing against Lee, but the show simply did not draw me in this season.

Meanwhile, my mom was Lee’s biggest supporter. She even went to the huge “Lee Comes Home” parade, managing to elbow her way through the crowds to get this amazing photo:

It’s like you’re RIGHT THERE!

When Mom asked me to go to the AI finale viewing party at Mt. Prospect’s Village Green, I agreed. Even tho I wasn’t all that interested, it sounded like a fun thing to do on a summer evening.

Wow. Mt Prospectians are crazy for Lee. There were about 5,000 screaming people, most of them wearing neon-green “BE-LEE-VE” T-shirts and “Lee Is DeWyzing Me Crazy” hats.

I had planned to interview some of the fans, but I accidentally sat on my water bottle and ensoakened the seat of my shorts. But, even tho I had to remain seated, I conducted what was probably the best interview of the evening:

Fifteen minutes into the show, we realized something: We are giant babies and cannot handle crowds. Those asshats in front of us were never going to sit down, and that cheap hot dog was definitely not agreeing with me. We dragged our lawnchairs through the throng of people and sped back to my mom’s condo.

Mom’s living room may have lacked the exciting atmosphere of a crowd of screaming Lee fans, but at least I was able to change into dry shorts and see the TV screen without having to yell, “DOWN IN FRONT (asshat)!” Also there were cookies. And despite having to answer my mom’s “Who’s that” every time an ancient celebrity appeared, I quite enjoyed the finale.

So: Was Crystal robbed? Did Idol fans vote for the same guy 3 seasons in a row? Was that really Janet Jackson’s butt?

I don’t know and I don’t care. Lee won, and that made my mom happy.

And a happy Mom is a happy JD.

*        *        *

WATCH! A professional (but Mom-less) video of the viewing party at the Village Green:

Don’t be jealous of my boogie

Really, tho, I love ALL drag queens. I would love to hang out with a drag queen. If you are a drag queen, please call me so we can be best friends and also so you can show me how to create a cleavage shadow.

Drag queen boyfriends are even BETTER than gay boyfriends (or “goys,” as Carissa Jaded calls them) because of the clothes, obviously. I need more feathers and glitter in my wardrobe. And my drag queen boyfriend could borrow my . . . OK, I guess I don’t have anything a drag queen would want, unless I shave off my hair and make a wig. Which I would totally do in the name of drag queen eleganza.

Yes, bitches, season 2 of RuPaul’s Drag Race has just ended, and with it, the hopes and dreams of another gorgeous Puerto Rican queen. Last year, I shed big girlie tears when my beloved Nina Flowers came in second; this year, spicy Jessica Wild was denied the crown.

Jessica’s tucking skills were beyond reproach, and her delightful take on the English language gave us some of the best moments on the show, including my favorite:

“If I’m going to win, I’m going to win with or without panties.”

Folks, meet my new motto. If these simple words can’t give me the courage to face another day, I don’t know what will.

JD, in her best quavering yet triumphant voice: I WILL be successful, with or without panties!

(But probably with, because GROSS!)

We were graced with another Jessica moment in the episode where the queentestants had to promote their pretend tell-all books. Jessica’s was titled Jessica Wild: Dreams of a Golden Child.

Except guest judge Jackie Collins thought she said, “Dreams of a Golden Shower.”

If you don’t know what a golden shower is, I beg you, do NOT Google it.

. . .

You Googled it, didn’t you?

Escándalo!

Anyway, Jessica helpfully provided the Spanish translation, which sounded like “doucha meow.”

When everyone said, “MEOW???” Jessica shyly explained, “The ‘meow’ is the pee.”

Aaaaand, there’s another motto.

Watch it here at 6:00.

If I can’t have a drag queen for a best friend, then I’ll have to settle for a drag queen husband. Wait, why doesn’t that sound right? It seemed like a good idea before I wrote it; now I’m not so sure. Regardless, it’s too late.

Because I already ran Dave’s photo through Logo’s “Dragulator.”

And before you get all indignant about poor old Dave being embarrassed yet again, I DO ask his permission before I post anything. Then, whether he says yes or no, I do it anyway, because life is not fair.

Puedo presentar:

Rowr.

In the words of Jessica Wild, “We are all specials.”

With or without panties.

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________________________

Jessica came from here

I’ve kicked the habit
Shed my skin
This is the new stuff
I go dancing in

If you know nothing else about me, know this: I like to move it, move it. I don’t care how and I don’t care when. My parts must jiggle. My heart must pound. My sweaty ponytail must swirl.

But since my stupid hospital stay, I’ve had to take it easy, or my back will crumble to dust. This makes JD sad.

One day, not long after I came home from the hospital, I joined Dave for breakfast in front of the TV.

Dave was also sad that day. “I wish there was something good on at this time. They used to have ‘Big Valley’ and then ‘I Dream of Jeannie.’” He stirred his oatmeal bitterly.

“Check VH1 Clasics,” I suggested.

Aw, YEAH! 80s videos!

Dave wasn’t that excited to see Belinda Carlisle’s “Mad About You,” but I was, because remember? That was when she lost all that weight and got the cute haircut plus stylish clothes and a hunky husband who just happens to be the son of James Mason, whom I had a crush on for many years, PLUS it’s a good song. A gentle bouncing overcame me. My ponytail stirred a bit.

Oh, man, then came the Scorpions, “Rock You Like a Hurricane“!!! AIR GUITAR! From the sofa, of course.

Dave finished his breakfast and headed off to work. I wasn’t going anywhere. My cereal bowl went unnoticed as I perched forward, toes tapping and head swaying, waiting for the next video. The sense of nostalgia was only somewhat ruined by the constant screen pop-ups asking me to “make this song your ringtone.”

Next up: “Tenderness” by General Public. I could no longer stay seated. I bopped carefully to the song (think old-lady knee lifts). I can do this all morning! but then a Debbie Gibson video came on, and I returned to the sofa.

But then it was “Heart of Rock n Roll” by Huey Lewis and THEN Rick James “Superfreak“! I was dancing as hard as I could while still barely moving my body. You know?

That morning I “rocked” out to:

Van Halen “Jump.” (RSB alert!!!)

Duran Duran “Girls on Film.” YES! It’s hard to keep from popping your hips on this one. Is this on my iPod? No? WHY?

Depeche Mode “Personal Jesus.” CRAP! Sorry, Jesus. But it’s kinda slow. Cue squats and lunges.

Madonna “Like a Virgin.” A good stretching song.

I might’ve “danced” all morning, but at 10 AM, “Behind the Music” came on.” No, wait! AWESOME! Because it was Genesis, and I had seen the second half the other night, but the first half is my favorite because it’s more Peter Gabriel than Phil Collins.

It’s just as well I stopped when I did. My hips and knees were ready for some Epsom salts, and the heating pad was sounding even better than “Totally 80s,” which came on at 11.

But I was no longer sad.

And so THAT is how 80s music videos (and a lot of Montel Williams selling insurance commercials) saved my life.

Don’t YOU deserve an 80s music video morning?

What’s YOUR favorite 80s music video?

_______________________

Peter Gabriel came from here

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The way she powders her nose
Her vanity shows and it shows

‘Tis the season not to hate people
Tra la la . . . OH MAN HOW I HATE THAT ONE LADY!

She’s so selfish! So jerkass-ish! So STOOPID! There aren’t enough exclamation points in the world to express how much I hate her.

!!!!! (see?)

Anyway, this lady. You may know her. She’s kind of attractive, nice hair. Likes to buy expensive dresses, tho her taste is questionable. Her taste in men, however, is spot-on, ‘cuz her guy is really cute.

He wants to go on a vacation.

Aw! How nice is that? There will be dining, boating, all kinds of fun activities they can both enjoy!

No.

There will be no vacation. No dining. No boating. No fun activities.

Why?

Well, see for yourself.

If you were too lazy to watch the video that would’ve taken 30 seconds of your precious time, I’ll spell it out for you:

The idiotic woman has spent all of the couple’s hard-earned reward points on a dress. Yes, you read that correctly. A single dress. No, the dress isn’t made of edible gold or diamond-filled Hershey Kisses, or even credit cards. It’s a dress. And it’s kind of fug, really.

Are you beginning to understand why I hate this lady? It’s not even that she selfishly spent all that money on a stupid dress but that she’s not the least bit worried about the guy’s reaction! She’s SO SURE he’s going to think she’s adorable for being such a cute little spend-bunny.

AND SHE’S RIGHT!

What’s his response to this mind-boggling fuckery?

A look and a smile that says, “Oh, honey. You’re such a mischevious little scamp! How can I get mad at you?”

I’ll tell you how, bub. She just spent the equivalent of a VACATION FOR TWO on a freaking DRESS!

If I ever do something this bone-headed, I hope Dave will punch me in the eye, because that? Is the appropriate response. Not a helpless grin.

I’m not the only one who hates this lady. From around the Internet, enraged viewers are voicing their opinions:

That bitch. He could have used those points to buy a flat screen. Sure, she’s hot, but it’s still grounds for choking a bitch.

This commercial has convinced me to have a clause for credit card points in my pre-nup.

Hey wench, we spent years accumulating that equity and you spent it all on an item of clothing you are only going to wear once behind my back? You ugly, Hilary Swank-looking thief of a wife.

I’d give her 10CC of rewards.

OK, that last one was gross.

So, men? Your partner comes home to announce that he/she has spent what must be thousands of dollars on a dress.

What do you do? (It can be illegal.)

Women? You have a choice between a fun vacation with your partner OR A SINGLE DRESS that you can plan on wearing in misery and poverty ALONE forever because your partner will kick you out to begin a new life, accumulating reward points to spend on hookers and blow.

What do you do?

_______________________

Ugly dress came from here

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Stud hunters, c‘mon, drop your pants
Stud hunters, here’s your big chance

I know Stud Hunters sounds like a reality show where teams of TV fame-whores vie to find the stud of their dreams and then shoot him in the head BUT! it’s actually a porno movie from those sex-ay folks at online adult toy store Eden Fantasys. Thanks, y’all!

I chose to review this particular film because it was described as being tasteful — porn-lite, if you will. If you won’t, then just imagine a naked Lifetime movie. But with a better-looking Tori Spelling. AND in the spirit of tastefulness, I’ve gone to great pains to avoid non-ladylike terminology, while still resisting “pee-pee” and “ta-ta’s”.

OK! My original plan was to screen this 83-minute opus for my movie club, Flix for Chix. Six chix were signed up, but one by one they dropped out. Suspicious! It reminded me of an old Dr. Seuss rhyme from my childhood:

Six chix like flix
Six chix fun mix
No chix get kix
No chix watch dix

So it was down to two brave chix: me and the hostess of the evening. When I arrived at her house, bearing enough snax for the original six chix, I found her 29-year-old son planted on the sofa.

Now, I am a huge fan of this guy, so I was delighted to see him. A third person! Maybe this movie night won’t be a blow-out after all. But . . .

Not gonna lie. Watching porn with your friend and her son is a bit weird.

Nevertheless, we were committed, the three of us, to watching this porno-lite so you don’t have to.

In order to protect everyone’s anonymity (including mine), all participants are referred to here by their “porn name.” Thus, I am Dixie Division (lame), my friend is Sue Fair (not bad), and her son is . . . wait for it . . .

No, really, WAIT FOR IT . . .

. . . Friar Longwood.

While I continue laughing my butt off, here’s a brief synopsis of Stud Hunters.

Director Carla Divine and her star, Giselle Lorgnette, search for the perfect stud for their upcoming erotic movie. Like Stud Hunters itself, THEIR movie will be made by women for women, full of soft glowy light and tasteful lovemaking scenes. A bunch of weirdos show up to audition, and things get HI-LARIOUSLY out of hand when stud applicants wander off to have tasteful glowy sex with various women. At the end, however, Carla gets her “revenge,” which involves having sex with ALL of the stud applicants.

Are you with me?

Here we go.

Scene 1. Carla and Giselle are on their way to the casting call for their erotic movie. Carla is on the phone with the forever-mysterious Stu. We know his name is Stu because she shouts it into the phone 100 times. We decide to take a drink every time someone says “STU!” but none of us drink and the “Stu” scene ends abruptly.

Friar: I watched The Changeling last night. Angelina Jolie was fantastic. This? Is a bit of a step down in terms of acting.

Carla and Giselle arrive at their audition site, which consists of a chair, a bare mattress, and a vaguely disturbing reporter whom Friar likens to a creepy Mexican George Carlin. The obligatory sexy yet innocent assistant, dressed in a schoolgirl skirt and glasses, rolls her eyes along with the three of us when Carla asks if THIS is her audition room.

Nine minutes in, we’ve finally got male frontal and backal (?) nudity, as the wannabe studs begin their auditions.

Marcus Oralious (geddit, geddit?) is promising. A seemingly homeless man announces he’s “here for da [insert crude name for lower lady part].” Johnny Taco recites a scene from A Streetcar Named Desire. Rod promises the director, “I can last and last and last.”

Friar: Not a lot of man-scaping going on, apparently.

At this point, Sue’s boyfriend comes downstairs, only to get an eyeful of bushy male frontal.

“What’re you guys watching?”

We ask him his porn name, and he’s surprisingly quick to answer: Blitz Laythrop! (Bwah! What is it with this family?) His phone rings, and he returns upstairs to answer it. “THIS IS BLITZ” the three of us scream after him.

The auditions continue, and next up is the break-out star of the movie: Grego!

Friar: I bet this guy’s agent asked him, “Hey, Greg, what do you want your actor name to be?” “Uh, I dunno. How ’bout Grego.”

One of the studs, Brian, acts out a scene with Giselle.

Giselle: “I don’t seem to have any money, delivery man.”
Brian: “Oh, that’s OK.”
Giselle: “Will you accept . . . a cup of coffee?”

Sue: Is she just flat-out reading the script?

Friar: No, it’s a scene-within-a-scene. Like Hamlet!

Brian strips down and snuggles with Giselle. Nothing gross or tacky. This is what women want! To be nuzzled by the naked delivery man in exchange for goods!

Friar: Still no sex! Oh, my god!

Sue: This is for women!

Friar: No, it’s awful! What’s the point?

Dixie: Needs more Stu!

Scene 2. We find Giselle in a weirdly lit room, reading Candide (of COURSE!). She’s sitting on a tiny sofa and, as you would imagine, there’s an upright bass in the corner. Brian comes in. They proceed to tastefully undress in this incredibly bright yet gauzy light that shows the sofa pattern on Giselle’s butt. Seriously, this is the kind of lighting used in alien movies when someone is floating up from their bed and out the window.

Brian tells Giselle, “I can tell by the way you read that script that you’d make a great mother.”

Dixie: Ha! This is baby-making sex!

Brian continues, “I’ve been thinking about settling down and having babies.”

Friar: This is DEFINITELY not for men!

They make out. Tastefully.

Friar: At least it’s not like a porn kiss where they’re all — AAAHHHGGG!!

Dixie: No, I don’t need to see that much tongue.

Sue: I don’t need to see this much MOUTH!

They finally get to it and proceed to have missionary sex for I KID YOU NOT half an hour. We fast-forward eighteen minutes, and they’re STILL doing it.

Sue crabs: They’re just gonna do missionary the whole time. They’re just going to keep pumping!

Dixie: Until they make a baby!

Friar: Bomp-chicka-babays.

Meanwhile, another sex scene is about to go down (HAR!): an encounter between the schoolgirl assistant and a stud. I think this is Marcus.

Sue and Friar argue about getting a new universal remote.

Marcus kisses the schoolgirl’s butt.

Friar: So if you wanted to watch porn with your husband, would you watch this?

Sue: No! I just want to watch f*cking.

Friar: Exactly!

We decide to take a much-needed pumpkin pie break, and Friar volunteers a little too enthusiastically to go get it.

(OK, I’m leaving this following sentence exactly as I typed it):

Now schoolgirl is getting gone down on.

Sue: I hate it when they look up at you while they’re doing it.

Friar and Sue argue about Thanksgiving.

Sue: Is that missionary couple STILL going at it? Could it be she hasn’t had an orgasm yet?

Dixie: That is NOT what women want: 60 minutes of dry labor and nothing to show for it.

Scene 3. Stud and female reporter. This is somewhat edgier than the other scenes. There are clothespins. There is light slapping. The guy is called a “dirty pig.” No talk of making babies between these two. Our stud seems to be having a bit of a problem.

Friar: Fluffer!

Finally, Giselle and Brian finish their missionary marathon and announce to the director that they are getting married and having babies.

“I’m quitting. I’ve found my stud.”

Friar, Sue, Dixie: STU!

Scene 4. Here comes the “director’s revenge.” It’s basically a fivesome, with Carla Divine at the center of a confusing jumble of limbs with Grego, Brian, Marcus, and Rod.

Slightly more hardcore non-babymaking sexual activities ensue with lots of toys including dildoes because apparently with four men there aren’t enough penises in the room.

Sue: Oh, yeah. Women love THAT. (Use your imagination here.)

Dixie: Wow, that looks gentle. Like he’s playing a banjo.

Friar: Whose foot is that?

Carla, doing some kind of naked Twister pose, moans, “Who’s that rubbing . . . [peeks down] . . . oh, it’s you!”

Friar dies of laughter: That line made this whole movie totally worth it!

Sue: This is not really hot.

Friar: No, it’s not.

The end.

Oh, and Stu apparently winds up in jail.

* * *

JD’s Porn-o-meter:

• 30% bad
• 30% hilarious
• 30% boring

Wait, that’s only 90%. Well, I think the remaining 10% goes to “Strongly disagree.” Would I recommend this movie? YES! For a fun girls’ night where everyone is drunk and in another room watching He’s Just Not That Into You. Seriously, Stud Hunters, like Sex Casino (see below), resulted in more uncomfortable giggling than actual sexual feelings. But for women who like a little romance with their (MISSIONARY) sex, this might be for you. The studs are good-looking, the women seem to have real boobs, and there are a few “so-bad-it’s-bad” laughs.

But how reliable am I? I watched it with my friend and her son. That may have skewed my reaction a bit.

A huge thanks to Sue and Friar. This would not have been NEARLY as much fun without you.

___________________________________

• BUY Stud Hunters here
• WATCH a clip of (soccer) stud Hunter here (He’s three, sickos)
• READ my review of sex-ay adult game Sex Casino here

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And when they see me
They want to be me

Some of my Facebook friends are probably sick of “Ay, loca,” so it’s only fair that YOU get a chance to be sick, too.

Sickness for all!

It started with RuPaul’s Drag Race. Yes, there is an actual TV show with that title. It’s kind of a Top Model for drag queens, hosted, obviously, by drag queen extraordinaire RuPaul (see above, locas). Like many of these reality contests, competitors participate in challenges, scratch each others’ eyes out, tuck their junk between their legs, and get voted off one by one.

Oh, and the final two are commanded by RuPaul to “Lip-sync for your lllllllllllife!”

But why was I, the intelligent and worldly JD, watching this show? I was beginning my Vicodin withdrawal and not feeling too great. I needed stimulation, but nothing too challenging. No drama.

Ay, loca. There was nothing BUT drama on this show.

From “lady-boy” Ongina to the buxom Porkchop, nine contestants vied for the title of . . . hmmm. I can’t remember. Something about drag queens.

But my favorite?

She was not the prettiest. She did not have the best body nor did she do particularly well on the “Oprah Challenge.” But what she lacked in these areas? Ay, loca, she made up for in . . . FIERCENESS!

SHE IS!

NINA FLOWERS!!!!

AY, LOCA!

And bitches, she WORKED it.

(She also said, “Ay, loca” ALL the time, in a way that made me long to be a Latina drag queen. Like, seriously.)

On this show, I learned that drag queens who dress more realistically as women are said to be “serving fish”! Well, thanks! And, ew. I also learned how to create a fierce “cat-eye.” ROWR! AND there is apparently no magic trick for dealing with the ol’ peas and carrot. Men, be prepared to suffer restricting garments, padding, and, yes: duct tape.

I was disappointed that Nina Flowers came in second (to Bebe Zahara Benet), but she DID win Miss Congeniality . . . and a place in my heart forever.

WATCH NINA’S INTERVIEW!

So, locas, I was thinking.

A 48-year-old female?

Is it possible?

Could I . . .

. . . possibly ever dream to appear on:

RuPaul’s Drag Race, Part 2: JD BUGALOO!!!

AY, LOCA!

Hey! What’s YOUR drag queen name?

According to this site, mine is the eternally stupid Sofonda Dildoes. But here, my name queened out as Monica Duvet. I like that much better. And I think Nina would too.

_________________________

• RuPauls came from here
• Nina Flowers came from here
• Drag JD came from here

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And the bulge in my big, big, big, big, big, big, big

Batman came from here

OK, so Adam Lambert didn’t win American Idol (yes, this post has been sitting in my drafts folder for a while), but recently (uh, not all that recently, I guess), Adam was on the cover of Rolling Stone. I showed the magazine to Dave, who quite appropriately rolled his eyes and wondered why he was married to a 12-year-old girl.

Squeee!

I told him about Adam’s performance on AI’s “Rock and/or Roll” theme night, and while there was, sadly, no Zepplinesque gong-on-fire ending during Adam’s awesome rendition of “Whole Lotta Love,” there was a whole lotta crotch. Now, suddenly, Adam’s crotch is upon us, so it’s time to talk about it.

By “it,” of course, I mean the Rock Star Bulge.

After busting out my own (non-crotchy) performance of “Whole Lotta Love” in our kitchen before a slack-jawed Dave, I shoved in my Song Remains the Same DVD so I could watch Zeppelin’s live version.

Dave looked over my shoulder. “Is that your guy?”

No, that’s my original guy, THE guy, the king of Rock Star Bulges: Robert Plant, who is clearly not wearing any underpants and who is also clearly showing off his wonderfulness, which from the look of it is really NOT that much to show off but who cares?

Ah, the Rock Star Bulge. Every young girl had one. I mean, had one that she liked. On a rock star. Right? I’m not just making this up. Rock Star Bulges were EVERYwhere in the 70s and 80s. The RSB was parodied by Spinal Tap, and long before Glambert’s Rolling Stone cover, a Rolling Stones album cover caused some bulging controversy (that’s a real bulge, by the way).

The RSB isn’t as prevalent today. It would be a little weird and gross for a Jonas Brother to show some bulge, right? (OMG, but it HAS happened!!!) OK, then, so what about, like, Michael Buble? Or how would you like to see a giant-ass bulge on Billy Joel? Or (gags) Kenny Chesney? Wait, my fact-checker tells me Kenny Chesney shows the bulge from time to time.

So I guess the Rock Star Bulge is in fact alive and well, but perhaps taking on a different form. Therefore, let us all pay tribute, as the Rock Star Bulge is handed down from the Robert Plants to the Adam Lamberts, from the long-haired, androgynous screamers in tight blue jeans to the shorter-haired androgynous screamers in tight leather pants.

The Rock Star Bulge will never die—not as long as there are rock stars and bulges. And the girls and boys who love them.

Classic Rock Star Bulges

• Rod Stewart (sorry)
  
• David Lee Roth
• Freddie Mercury
• Lenny Kravitz
• Roger Daltrey
• Jim Morrison
• Robert Plant (duh)
• Motley Crue
• Joe Jonas??? (well, maybe . . . )

______________________

Who’s your favorite Rock Star Bulge?

Doesn’t mean that much to me
To mean that much to you

Old man came from here

Old people!

Come on, give me a break.

I know it’s not ALL your fault, but still.

You could be a little more considerate of those around you.

Everywhere I go, old people are ruining my otherwise joyful, carefree, laughter-filled life.

Just the other morning, I was doing my grocery shopping. Oh, how happy I was. Madonna’s “Express Yourself” was playing, and I was pretending that Adam Lambert and I were shopping together and singing along as we slammed our carts into displays of SlimFast.

But when I got to the checkout lane (by which time I had moved on to another fantasy involving Don Draper), there was an old man.

An old man WORKING, as in bagging my groceries. Why is this old man working? Why isn’t he at home, surrounded by rosy-cheeked grandchildren and a faithful lap dog? Why is he my slave? Yes, I can bag my own groceries, but I tend to bristle at that thought. I have a job. I am not above yelling, “We need a bagger at lane 4!” although this has never actually resulted in a bagger showing up.

And I don’t want to insult the old man by pushing him aside to do it myself. Maybe he likes working.

Oh, you KNOW he doesn’t!

My day? Ruined. My Don Draper fantasy? Evaporated.

I hate that old people have to work. Sometimes I like to scare my mom by telling her that she’s going to have to get a job as a hostess at Chili’s. If you think I’m making this up, go to any Chili’s. I guarantee there’s an old lady waiting to seat you. She’s wearing heels even tho she’s on her feet all day. Her back is killing her. She can barely hold those giant menus thanks to arthritis. Enjoy your freaking baby-back ribs.

I’m a hearty eater, but nothing kills my appetite faster than an old person eating alone. Especially an old man. An old man wearing a suit. At McDonald’s. Most likely his wife died and his kids ignore him, but I like to pretend that his wife is a shrew and his kids are jerks. These little outings are his only respite from a miserable life. Aw, heck. There’s no winning with old people.

Are you crying yet?

There is no end to the selfishness of old people. Consider the tattooed old lady or the old man in Speedos. Cruel! When will they stop thinking of themselves? We have to live on this planet, too.

Please, old people. Think of someone else for a change.

Stop being so selfish.

Stop ruining my life.

My name was not always Sardonicus,
and I did not always wear a mask.

Oh, boy. It isn’t often I have insomnia, and it’s even less often that there’s something good on TV when I do. The other night I caught Mr. Sardonicus on MeTV. A classic Gothic horror flick, Mr. Sardonicus features slow-building psychological terror and creepy scary stuff like graves and fog and vague Eastern European accents. Brrrr! Despite the lack of sleep, I’ve been smiling ever since.

In a nutshell: A humble peasant guy (soon to be known as Mr. Sardonicus) digs up his father’s grave to retrieve a winning lottery ticket. The sight of his father’s horrifying corpse-face (flesh pulled back to create a seeming grimace) causes him first to scream like a little girl and second to develop a similar frozen grimace . . .

The dude can’t stop smiling.

A fright-masked Mr. S. summons a doctor to his castle in Gorslava (nice!), where we find a deformed man-servant, a frigid wife, and possibly fake leeches. The doctor first tries applications of heat and massage to rid Mr. S. of his horrifying grin, but when that doesn’t work, he’s forced to try an experimental cure—strychninus toxicus (doesn’t sound too poisonous, does it?) It works . . . a little too well. The doctor and wife run off together, leaving Mr. Sardonicus to his fate.

And what is his fate? Ah, that’s up to the viewer . . . sort of. For the theatrical release, director William Castle passed out “Punishment Poll” cards to audience members. In the movie, he pops up before the final scene to remind everyone to hold up their card: thumbs up if the villain is to receive mercy or thumbs down for no mercy. Of course there was only one ending filmed, and you can rest assured Mr. Castle knew his audience.

So what’s so bad about a perma-smile?

Um . . . this?

Why so serious?

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HAHAHAHAHAHA! OK, not that horrifying, right? But bear in mind, this movie was made in 1961. What if they remade Mr. Sardonicus, using modern special effects and CGI? Maybe the villain would be a woman. Yeah. Mrs. Sardonicus. A woman so vain, so obsessed with trying to be funny that . . .

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!

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• Watch the trailer here
• Watch some scenes, including the horrifying REVEAL (and leeches) here
• Buy your own Mr. Sardonicus doll . . . er, model . . . here

So? What’s your verdict? Thumbs up or down?