From queerty.com comes a delightful tale of cyber sabotage: “Warningsofwrath.com used to direct people to the Open Door Baptist Church’s webpage. Now, thanks to one clever man, visitors of the website are redirected to a very, very NSFW hardcore gay XXX site called scaryfuckers.com that depicts videos of tattooed skinheads pounding each other from behind, engaging in cream pie orgies, and inserting icepicks into their urethras, among other things.” I’m particularly fond of that “among other things.”
Queerty describes the viciously anti-gay Open Door Baptist, located in Easley, South Carolina, as “a slightly less crazy version of the Westboro” loons. The unnamed saboteur simply seized on an opportunity that was handed to him. Let this be a lesson to all bigots everywhere. To paraphrase Joan Crawford in the immortal “Mommie Dearest”: “Don’t fuck with us, fellas.”
The seizure of warningsofwrath.com is reminiscent of Dan Savage’s brilliant contest that asked readers to come up with an obscene definition of the word “santorum” in an effort to ridicule the anti-gay former US senator from Pennsylvania, a once and likely future presidential aspirant. The winning entry: “Santorum: the frothy mixture of lube and fecal matter that is sometimes the byproduct of anal sex.”
Media Circus
Then began a coordinated effort to keep the new definition at the top of the page of Google search results for “Santorum.” This requires an ongoing commitment on the part of the public, since search results are listed in descending order of clicks. As a Facebook friend of mine put it in a recent post on the subject, “I try to click on it at least once a day.”
So please take a moment and Google “santorum,” then click on the obscene definition. Make it a part of your daily routine. Keep filth alive!
Inevitable: Via Right Wing Watch comes this bit of lunacy about the Amtrak derailment and Brandon Bostian, the train’s gay engineer. It’s from Sandy Rios, one of the American Family Association’s radio blatherers: “Now I am not saying, I am not inferring to those of you that are gay rights activists and like to monitor this show, I’m not inferring that this accident happened because he was gay, but I do think it’s an interesting part of the story and you can bet it would be edited out.” Rios then wondered whether the engineer was “going through some confusion that has to do with the very core of who they are.” She’s not only a bigot; she’s an illiterate bigot. A “he” is not a “they,” Sandy. And I assure you that none of us “like” to monitor your show. Dairy farmers shovel a lot of shit, but they don’t have to like it.
As it happened, of course, Bostian’s sexual orientation was hardly “edited out.” The New York Times and many, many other news sources included it as part of their coverage of the story. The Times found a sensible way of mentioning the fact in its profile of the beleaguered engineer: “In California, Mr. Bostian was active in the battles over same-sex marriage, donating money and attending rallies in opposition to Proposition 8, which banned same-sex marriage. ‘It’s kind of insulting to have to beg people for my right to marry,’ he told New York’s Midtown Gazette at a marriage equality gathering in 2012 in Manhattan. ‘I feel like we shouldn’t even have to have this fight.’”
It’s certainly fair to note that Bostian is gay. It’s a part of who he is. In contrast to Sandy Rios’ assumption, I think anyone interested in unbiased, accurate reporting expects to see as complete a portrait of the man as possible. Being gay isn’t shameful, Sandy. Why would we expect it to be “edited out”?
On the lighter side: I am mesmerized by the overbearing Italian mama in the commercial — the one who learns to take Aleve to ease her back pain while she prepares Sunday dinner for the family. Her cookware is designed to feed the Marines: we see her draining a vast amount of spaghetti for some unspecified, secondary side dish. She’s also seen rolling out dough for another excessive course. (Pizza? Focaccia? A strangely yeasty pie?) Then she badgers a small child into acknowledging the meal’s masterpiece: “You’re waiting for my lasagna, aren’tcha!” My lasagna!” What a brilliant touch!
From then on, it’s nothing but complaints. Of course she has back problems! She could have avoided the whole mess if she simply stopped taking stacks of plates down from the cabinet by the dozen. Ignoring the obvious cause of her pain, she then faces the camera and delivers her best lines: “I hadda ask my sista ta come ova ‘n help! I don’ like askin’ people fa’ help… I hadda take six pills ta get tru de day.” All of this with earthy gesticulations and an air of longstanding grievance. “But den my daughta brought ova some Alleve.” Thank God fa’ de daughta! “Ta fa-muh-ly!” she shrieks in the ad’s final moments while clinking her glass of Chianti.
Not since “Showgirls” has this perfect an example of camp appeared on the popular culture screen. But the reaction of our community has been disappointing, to say the least. I’m appalled that every gay man in town isn’t doing an imitation. And where are the drag versions? Grindr is killing gay culture.
Follow @EdSikov on Twitter.
