President Obama’s approval rating may lie somewhere in the 70th percentile, but it’s of unanimous opinion* that the Octomom is a brainsick, baby-hungry, Angelina Jolie wannabe. However, as plain as the lips on both of their faces as this might seem, I’d like to call to question the following piece of evidence:

What came first, the chicken or the egg? While recent developments in science may deem this existential debate obsolete, in the case of Nadya Suleman’s lips, the answer is Corey Hart. Check out the smackers on that guy!

Angelina may have worn a vile of Billy Bob Thorton’s blood around her neck, but the Octomom is clearly brimming with more emotional issues than a former child star.

*No actual research, beyond a YouTube search, was completed in preparation of this editorial.

Filed Under: auralgasm, Hollywood by JJ
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I stand, frozen.
Water begans GUSHING from the faucet, its flow interrupted by flesh, then marble.
Only my lungs move, quivering as I inhale slowly, warily.
Paper towel WHIRS from the dispenser and is RIPPED free.
My eyelids flutter.
An abrupt CRUMPLING is quickly dampened.
Dizzily, I shake my head, INHALING deeply, louder than I would have liked. I clamp my lips shut, quiet.
Footsteps.
“Thank God,” I mouth.
The door scrapes open, metal on metal, before SNAPPING back, shut.

At this point, I usually FLING open the stall door, gasping for breath. I might as well be back in high school, terrified of being spotted and subsequently mocked for pooping in public. Yeah. That’s right. I said it. I poop – at work.

Now, I won’t go as far to say that anyone has rocked my sanitary cubicle while I’ve been attempting to release the feast from the night before. It’s just that it is undeniably awkward to be spotted by a familiar face when you finally duck out of that stall. Especially if that person is someone you talk to often, even on a solely professional level. “Don’t get me started, don’t EVEN get me started” on the level of discomfort had they happened to HEAR what you were up to.

The upside is that in the bathroom most (civilized) men don’t extend the conversation past a greeting, much less address your recent detoxification. But maybe this actually is the problem. Let’s face it, “Everybody Poops.” It’s a book, it’s a fact, it’s life. So, why are we always so GD embarrassed about it?

Most of my friends and family will tell you that I’ve long been an advocate of healthy bowels. I was all over Activia before Jamie Lee Curtis even signed that contract, before America even knew what hit it (I re-discovered this fact recently when flipping through photos of my adventures in Europe, the Spring of my Sophomore year).

HECK, my roommate (on right) and I even go so far as to exchange the occasional high-five in celebration of one of us attaining the exalted one-wiper, a sure-fire omen that the rest of your waking hours will be played out amidst unsinkable, high spirits. If you appreciate the simple pleasures in life – like a quick ‘n’ solid – all the inconveniences, all the challenges can be seen and tackled with greater prospective. You didn’t sweat it in the bathroom, why do so out in the world?

Now I know this intense disclosure isn’t for everyone and you won’t catch me tweeting about my latest sinker; but I think we could all benefit from a little introspection – what has pooping done for you?

Filed Under: perspective, TMI - what's that? by JJ
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Welcome to the 21st century.

Now, I know we’re almost a decade in, but with over 90 years until the 22nd, I think the greeting still stands strong. Bush is gone, Barack is here, and more and more of us our proud to be queer. That said, stereotypes exist for a reason and I’d like to make a few suggestions to all those burgeoning gays.

Number one: the sibilant ‘s’ is out. 2009 is all about the brassy ‘z’. Let’s turn that lispth into an aural “snap, snap, SNAHHHP!” Mmmhmmm, boiZ. You KNOW it. Attitude.

Number two: shut up with the “fierce.” Leave that adjective to what’s his face, that bespectacled Project Runway champ.

Number three: how flattering is mesh, really? Come on, people, we’re in a recession. Save some money, ditch the gay lace and just party with your pecs out. Hell, if you’re REALLY as glittery of a twink as your drunken self wants Facebook to think, then find out who did the make up for “Twilight” and VAMP IT UP like a naked Cullen on vacation in LA.

Numero cuatro: throw in an arbitrary Spanish word every now and then. Spanglish may be the future de los Estados Unidos; so why not inject a little Latin fire in your vocabulary. An “adios” + a bat of the eyelash is just that much sexier than “see yah later.”

Number six: add “LOL” to the “NO! No, fuck no”* list. If you really are laughing out loud, then just type some form of HAHAHA, depending on the degree of raucousness the inciting comment deserves. And if you’re going as far to verbalize this abbreviation, just…just…shhh.

Finally, Number six: if you haven’t added Sam Sparro’s rendition of “American Boy” to your Fuck Me Hard (as my roommate calls hers) sex mix, do it now. NOW! His throaty, man voice adds a whole new meaning to Estelle’s lyrics. Especially because he is, in fact, gay. Thus, while still a celebrity, that much more attainable to members of our team. Think about THAT when you get tough ‘n’ tendah (as I’ve titled mine) with yourself.

Sincerely,

Me.

*Gracias a la Christian Bale for that gem.

Filed Under: auralgasm, Facebook, gay high school, perspective, You read it here. by JJ
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