Ted Haggard is a Screaming Queen.

HAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY GIRLFRIEND! I hear you got outed as a Queer, and had to resign your spot spitting venom about your fellow gays.

That. Totally. Sucks.

Now that you don't have a job, and won't be able to afford to bring the good blow, Rocky is seriously not going to invite you to his parties anymore. What? Oh, well, I'd love you be able to bring you, but... ... you know how it is.

But look at it this way -- at least you still have your loving wife, who you cheated on by taking it up the ass and loving every minute of it, and your beautiful children. They'll be a comfort to you in this, your time of darkest disgrace. You should be grateful. You have a loving and stable marriage, based on honesty and mutual trust.



I envy you guys, really I do.

I'd love to be able to have a model marriage like yours, full of same-sex infidelity, while railing against my own natural tendencies, to 14,000 frothing congregants, foaming at the mouth with Jesus. Buuuuuuut, thanks to some of the lobbying you did, it looks like that won't happen for another seventy years or so.

Oh well, no biggie. Anyway, I'm guessing you're probably going to pack a few Color Block sweaters, and a couple of your best Denim shirts, and are going to slink off to Homo-Rehabilitation camp. We're really going to miss the way you used to serve as CumPig at Rocco's leatherbear sexparties. You sure took it in the eyes like a champ.

Well, I guess this is goodbye. Remember, God loves all of his children. Even if you're now scum in the Evangelicals' eyes, and no self-respecting fag would step within ten feet of you. Just remember, there's always Heaven to look forward to!

Oops. Ehhhhhhhh. Awwwwkward....

An Open Letter to Andy L:

Dear Andy L:

I'm so sorry that an impending family tragedy bored you. Really, I am. How inconsiderate of me to use my blog to work through some complex and conflicting feelings, when it caused you to roll your eyes, and hammer your head against your keyboard. Because it was too long. And booooringggg.

I've taken it "under advisement," as we say in the Legal World. No longer will I ever write about being dutybound to relatives, blood or not, in their final, agonizing days. I won't write about how I'll be bored as hell in Pensacola for a weekend, alternating between boredom and uncomfortable depression, as I watch my now 75-pound grandfather waste away to blackness.

Maybe I should write about monkeys and bananas and typewriters and flinging poo and chewing gum and hockey, pie and Satan.

I'm on it. Don't you worry your little towhead about it. There will be no more "serious" posts. Just posts about unicorns, and jellybeans and cotton candy and lacy knee-socks and patent leather Mary Janes and pinafores and schoolbook satchels, and shiny red apples and playing "Hoops" (not basketball, but the kind where you hit a wooden ring with a little dowel) and stickers and the LightBright, and Rainbow Bright and the Speak n' Spell, and the Sit n' Spin, and those bouncyballs with the handles that you'd bounce on on your butt, and kickballs, and fat #2 pencils, and fingerpaint, and vegetable and/or fruit, and chocolate milk from a carton, and Star Crunches and Swiss Cake Rolls, and Tacos with nothing but cheese and salsa on them, and Gym uniforms, and Home Econimics Snickerdoodle cookies, and those pillow pattens we had to sow and maybe you bought the Shark and "Bug-in-Jar" and never made the Bug-in-Jar pillow pattern, because you had super bad ADHD, and when you bought two pillow patterns in 6th grade Home Economics, your parents probably figured out you were gay then, and British Knights and Sony tapeplaying walkmen, and trucks by Tonka and anything made by RonCo, especially that microphone where you used to be able to link it to the radio and sing on the radio, and puzzles of Hamburgers, and Hook and Stitch patterns, and Gimp, and Snoopy Sno-Cone machines, and G.I. Joe, and He-Man, and Skeletor's Slime Pit, and Mask, and the Muppet Babies (don't lie you fucking watched them too.) and when you used to have to turn the channels on Cable with that remote control on the cord hooked up to the Cable Box, and the World Book Cellophane body diagrams in the Encyclopedia, and the Bookfair at School, and how the Retard's Pod was the "Pioneers", and when the mall still had Potomac Toys, and the McDLT and a big fat punch in the eye.

There. How'd ya like that, beeeatch?

Asshat. I love you. Call me!