BY Dave White
November 07 2009 10:00 AM ET
2. King of The Crown
I just finished reading the somewhat controversial book Androphilia, in which the author, Jack Donovan, asserts that gay male culture is steeped in crippling effeminacy. It’s a fascinating book and watching this show made me want to get the author involved in a cage-fighting match with the extremely gay homosexuals—beauty pageant consultants in South Carolina—who crowd every moment with weepy speeches at mall fashion shows and, when they’re not insulting fat girls who enter pageants by calling them “Mama Cass,” like to toss off snippy retorts to one another like, “Take your estrogen!” It would be a grueling fight I’m sure, a match with possibly no clear winner, because these gays are like an all-robot theater company of Steel Magnolias. Watching this show will actually drain whatever life-enhancing hormones you normally enjoy directly from your body. Enjoy at your peril.
It’s kind of like The Soup or The Dish but it’s about all kinds of stuff and not strictly focused on TV. It’s on Al Gore’s new cable channel called Current and it features a regular segment called “That’s Gay” hosted by Bryan Safi. It’s pretty funny, even if he did just bite my rhyme by doing a segment about gay exorcisms. And if you don’t get that channel—I’m the only person I know who does—you can watch the “That’s Gay” bits online.
4. Monica: Still Standing
In the absence of new episodes of Metalocalypse (finally starting a new season this weekend, for both of you metal fans out there) I need some kind of music-related thing to enjoy. This isn’t it. And I like Monica. “The Boy is Mine” is the kind of addictive '90s jam you turn way up when the oldies station plays it. If I could rollerskate I’d want it on a continuous loop. But unlike the brand new and hyper-catastrophic Broke and Famous: Willie Aames, there’s no urgency to Monica’s career travails. She’s been through some tough stuff (a boyfriend’s suicide for starters) but at the moment everything’s fine. She’s building a monster house all Real Housewives of ATL-style, working on a new CD, driving her Mercedes badly. Although I guess I feel pretty sorry for her that she can’t decide on how to furnish her eight bedrooms. I woke up in the night fretting about that one.
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