My Cold Dead Heart Beats Again: Baby Arangatang Orangitang Primate Wakes Up from Surgery, Needs Hug

I shed real human tears of joy watching this. Not the sexy kind that happen when you're jerking off, but still, real tears. Now you try not to cry, like a little girl.

Words Strung Together

In a most delightful way.

About Sarah Palin, a fan says:

There is something about that woman that has destiny, whether it's in politics, to be president, or to host a talk show.

Ok, it's fine if she's president, but don't give this woman a talk show!

This Better Be Good, Sullivan [UPDATED TWICELY]

Folks, if you've followed the Sarah Palin saga at all over the past 100 years, you'll know that conservative/libertarian blogger and avowed homosexual of the "bear" variety Andrew Sullivan of the Atlantic is obsessed with her and all of her provable lies. Many people find him off-puttingly monomaniacal about it, but I don't, because I myself am obsessed with her and the cult surrounding her, not to mention the fact that she tells a fib every time she exhales. So I really enjoy all of his posts about her and, honestly, wish he would bitch it up a little.

Yes, Andrew Sullivan is pissed, and not just at Sarah. In fact, mainly at John McCain, whose fault she is. And he's been dedicated to keeping a close tally of all of her falsehoods for easy reference ever since she was tapped for VP before crashing and burning last November. Things went quiet after all of the postmortem stuff and, except for when there was further idiocy to report on (her resignation last July, her cancelation of speaking engagements at the last minute, Levi!), Sully was able to return to his other hobby horses, like pushing for marriage equality, reaming the Bush administration over torture, and, of course, praising the Pet Shop Boys. But things started ramping up last week when the pub date of Palin's dumb book started approaching like a runaway station wagon with only three wheels.

There were Palin blog posts galore, yay! I couldn't get enough. Sully and I were soul mates, going down a road of complete and utter psychotic fixation, and we would not. Be. Denied.

Then, yesterday, his blog went silent after he posted a "mental health break" video of Lady Gaga doing some weird Lady Gaga shit at 4:37pm. I refreshed and refreshed and refreshed, hour after hour after hour, and nothing. Just a Lady Gaga video, still. I thought, quite reasonably, that Lady Gaga had killed his blog somehow. (She's got powers.) But then, today at 11:44am, Sully posted a message "To Our Readers" explaining the silence: he and his staff have been reading Going Rogue, poor things. Money quote:

We have had the book for less than a day. We feel we owe it to you to get it right - or as right as we can - until we post or publish anything. As readers know, we also differ on some key issues and intend to air them and thrash this out until we are confident that whatever we publish is as fair as possible.

At some point, we will also go back and make sure we have not missed all the evidence of the other lies that Palin is now peddling. We won't miss anything. But we ask for your patience.

There is a possibility here of such a huge scandal that we would be crazy not to take our time either to debunk it or move it forward for further examination.

We have only one commitment: to get this right. Please bear with us as we do the best we can.

In a follow-up post later today, he assured his readers that he would be back tomorrow, posting as normal.

Ok, Sully. You have been officially indulged. I'm with you on all of this, even though people across the Internet--all across the Internet, Andrew!--are calling you crazy, unhinged, and a pig f**ker. But I'm standing by you. We're in this together, even though I'm not doing anything.

But this better be good.

------
**UPDATE**

He's back, and still obsessed, yay! Tell it to the haters, daddy!


**'NOTHER UPDATE**

Papa lays it out.

Oh Look, Who Cares?

And now for something completely boring: inflatable flesh-sack and winner of the 2004 Pulitzer Prize for Smelling of Balls Karl Rove, George W. Bush's official underwear sniffer and political strategist (in that order!) is writing a book. It's title? No, it's not Sodomy: A Primer. It's even more unlikely: Courage and Consequence. These two words, of course, lose all of their meaning when typed into a computer by a demonic clown like Rove, so beware: many many many words will completely lose their meanings for us humans when this Fantasia of Fistulas is released next March. We will have to get by by talking through our buttholes, the way Karl Rove has taught us.

(Hey hippies: think of the trees that will give their lives to bring this book to print. Now cry.)

This book will not be fact checked because who gives a shit?

Rodent-faced Dungeon Master Rudy Giuliani Making This Great Horned Owl Hungry

Good news, fans of the cuniculus undead: rat-faced troll Rudy Giuliani is doing the media rounds (well, the Fox media round) to complain about the Obama administration's plans to hold New York trials for the 9/11 conspirators. You'll be shocked to find out that after the World Trade Center Bombing in 1993, he held a completely different view! Watch this Daily Show clip, for proof:

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But that's not the biggest Giuliani news. SeeTimBlog can now confirm that the former NYC mayor's rodent-like face, oily outer coat, and long serpentine tail are making the above Great Horned Owl from Texas extremely hungry.

After seeing Giuliani's verminous face on Fox News, the owl was heard remarking to himself in the trees "God, I feel like I haven't eaten in freaking months after seeing that delicious piece of hell trash."

The owl went on to say that he hadn't seen "such a good looking plate of weasel relish since the '08 Republican presidential primary."

After being pressed, the owl did admit that it's their complete lack of self awareness that makes Republicans more tasty.

Happy Sarah Palin Day!

The world gets just a little bit sexier today with the release of The Divine Miss Sarah's soft-core porn odyssey through the swampy Id of American retardation. It's going to be like Heart of Darkness crossed with the down-home humor of one of those "Hang on 'Til Friday" posters, blended with the analytical public policy sophistication of the back of a cereal box, and then sprinkled generously with demonic possession. If that doesn't add up to "best seller" then book publishing really is dead.

Oh, and the catfight of the century is currently being waged between Sarah and blogger Andrew Sullivan, so you'll be wanting to check his site every five minutes or so to see get bloodletting updates.

I haven't been this excited since I happened upon Carrie Prejean's hairdresser at that piano bar/glory hole in Vegas.

Literature Update: Sarah Palin Wrote a Book

An exciting day it is today. This is the very last Friday we real Americans will ever have to live in a world without a book by Sarah Palin. As you no doubt remember, this blog ran the very first interview with Sarah Palin after she was tapped to be John McCain's Vanna White last year. This was a watershed moment in blog journalism (blourgalism) and was the last good interview she gave.

You are probably already very familiar with the cover of her book (above) and the provocative title, Last-Chance Lust, not to mention all the lame parody titles (Lust-Chance Last? Chest-Lust Bust? Come on, liberal media, you can do better than that. Those don't even make sense!)

This book will be released Tuesday and will obviously be on the shortlist for the Booker Prize, the Caldecott Medal, and the John Deere Book of the Month Club. Fingers crossed, Palin will follow up her Oprah interview on Monday with another sit-down with yours truly, at Grant's Tomb, in the cafe. Come on, Sarah! I'll bring the condoms and biscuits! I'll also be happy to supply you with a copy of the questions I'll be asking ahead of time, so your trusty spokescomic Megan Stapleton can read them to you.

hat tip: Hilary @ Publish and Be Damned for the book cover research

Good Lord, This Carrie Prejean

You know how when you see a big blond train wreck full of blood and guts and lipgloss and confetti you just can't look away? Because it is just so dazzling? Well that big blond train wreck, professional former pageant walker and fake boob display case Carrie Prejean, visited Larry King last night and set CNN ablaze with cagey bitchiness. Larry King is the talk show host known for never asking a question more probing than "And how was your day?" but Carrie obviously thinks that this is an inappropriate question, because why is Larry King such a victimizer?

Well Carrie is having none of this, so she takes her microphone off and starts chatting to an imaginary friend off camera. But like any child of God, she can't bring herself to just stand up and leave, because then how would she be filmed? And how will she spread her message of Christian sex tapes? So she just sits there and whines without a microphone but refuses to go away. Shouldn't a lady with a French last name be more sophisticated?

Carrie Prejean is totally ready to be our next vice president.

New Fun Thing: Xtra Normal

I've just come upon a web technology that will change the way we communicate. It's called Xtranormal, and, if you're a writer, you can use it to give voice to all that idiotic typing you do all day only to be told by Random House "who are you and what are doing hiding in the mail room with the company dildo?"

Now, instead of writing short stories, submitting them to tediously negative and cowardly literary journals and such, and dealing with the requisite nasty emails from them saying to stop harassing them and stop submitting stories that they don't think are even written in English, we "writers" can offer the world our unpublished stories, in an audiovisual dimension, without the obnoxious and repressive standards that the gatekeepers in the literary world impose upon us.

As such, I present to you a story,"Boy Inadvertent," that I entered in Opium Magazine's "500-word Memoir" contest last spring only to be cruelly and utterly ignored, not even receiving a "thank you for submitting" or even a " this piece of shit blew, so thanks but no."

This powerful story of my life would never be heard from again it seemed. But then: Xtranormal. Thank you, Internet.

Time for More Siouxsie

Y'all, it's been a while since I've posted on Siouxsie Sioux, my fairy godmother. Maybe it's the recent Halloween festivities that brought me back in touch with my love of eyeliner and lipstick, but I've been missing her. She helped me through my awkward teenage years and actually taught me how to give really good head to a vampire, so obviously I'm in her eternal debt.

Siouxsie, where's that next solo album, huh? Hurry up.

I Love My Dad

You guys, it's not often I get serious on this blog, but I'm fixin' to get ready to be serious. My dad, Don Anderson—born in California, raised in Jamestown, NY and Rome, GA, and then settled in Gulfport, MS and then Raleigh, NC to raise a family—has Alzheimer's disease, and he and my mom were recently featured on Raleigh, NC's local WRAL newscast in a segment about dealing with the disease. They both look so awesome! He's got his trusty dog "Lillybit" that he carries with him everywhere (and who just mistrusts the hell out of me for some reason; it's ok, I don't trust her either). The work they've done on the house really looks great and there's a picture of my Aunt Gerry behind mom looking like a giant meringue in that hat, the way God intended.

There's also a gratuitous family photo in which I'm so obviously the gay son it's not even funny.

Dad, you look great on TV. And even better on the Internet.

Dutch Dingbat Rebuilds Noah's Ark, Thereby Proving Its Biblical Truth

Have you folks received this hysterical (in ALL senses of the word) email forward yet from all y'alls momz? About how a guy in Dutchland built a replica of Noah's Ark according to the building specifications that God laid out in the scriptures? Dutch Creationist Johan Huibers apparently built this flotation device "as a testament to his faith in the literal truth of the Bible." That's great for him and for all Christians, because now they have proof that the measurements laid out by God are structurally sound.

Now all Johan needs to do is gather together two of the same species of EVERY ANIMAL ON THE PLANET and tuck them away in their bunks in his new ark, take some pictures (no Photoshopping), and all of our religious doubts will be vaporized once and for all. Then we can all lose our shit and start talking to burning bushes, taking up residence in the bellies of whales, and, most fun of all, blaming women for eating apples and thereby forcing us to feel bad about walking around naked. Then we can start dealing with the muslins.

Is this guy friends with Sarah Palin on Facebook yet?

All I know is, Johan has definitely strengthened my belief in the Biblical truth of red sweaters and hot porn 'staches.

A Halloween Message

Happy Trick or Treating, kids. (Watch out for clowns.)

Lullaby of the Damned

TRUE! Sleepy. Very very sleepy I have been and am. But why would you say that I am mad, or whatever? 'Twas me, like a baby, in my loft bed aslumber yesterday morn, dreaming of doves, of cupcakes, and of Abercrombie and Fitch models, when what should steal away from me these pleasant sleepful visions in the dark early morning but the maddening crash of a maniacal organ, carried upon the wisps of a shivering October breeze, from somewhere in the grim outside world and delivered unto me as I struggled to remain behind the veil of sleep in my downy divan.

(Clicketh the clicky below to experience the unChristian sound that thrust me into wakefulness and caused my cat Stella to dig her tender talons into my eyebrows.)

What is this infernal sound mocking my heavy eyelids and sending my cat into convulsions of medieval scratching? It is the soundtrack to a child's nightmare. A particularly unimaginative child, for who has not heard this particular organ racket a million times in television commercials during the All Hallows' Eve season? TRUE! BUT! It is an altogether different sensation when one is resting comfortably in a cotton candy cocoon and one's eardrums are suddenly raped mightily by the dirge of doom.

Now this may be the point where you fancy me mad, or at least way too sensitive to noise, but I tell you I knew once the organ entered its second minute that its source was a place of unspeakable evil.

"That fucking school is fucking obnoxious!" my male companion lamented as he stomped through the dormitory half-naked and seething, opening drawers in the kitchen and closing them violently just to muffle the sound of the dreadful musical monstrosity seeping through our walls and into our dark and bitter souls.

Yes, it was the elementary school right behind us. The devil's own playground.

The vampiric utterings of the undead organ continued, and I submitted to its breathless noise my little silver Kodak machine, for as to capture some of its sinister rambling. Herewith, listen, and foreso:



'Twas a full hour later, and the fiendish death moan of the elementary school organ continued. I ate my toast while covering both ears! And still the diabolical dervish of noise seeped through my frozen fingers to molest my eardrums anew, with a ferocious vigor. TRUE! And NOT COOL!

With a pounding, putrid head and a palpitating heart, I dressed myself as best I could--for a gentleman must not forget to put on his pantaloons and pinafore, no matter how little sleep he's had. I grabbed my manpurse--for that is what it is called--and escaped the maddening dungeon of my dormitory, stumbling down the steps to the street four flights below.

If you still think me mad, you will do well to hear me out: outside my building and on the early morning avenue the infernal organ was louder and even more demonic than it had been previous to this, its meandering melody searching the air for virginal ears to violate with its frenzied harmonics and hellhound screeching. (BOTH!)

Rounding the corner, I finally came face to face with the wicked wreck of humanity that had inspired such a malevolent morning of frenzied phantasmic organ grinding (courtesy of a powerful sound system blasting the obscene noise): yes, it was elementary school children. Dressed in costumes designed by the devil himself. Lining up outside their school to receive candy treats from the PTA or some bullshit. They were diabolically adorable.

Look into their baleful eyes and tell me you do not hear the obscene, depraved hissing of a hideous and poisonous serpent of death.

Disappointment: A One-Photo Photo Essay

Presented without comment.