Back to the Queer Future

High-fives to Jukebox Mafia for finding this uproarious slab of topical twang which was far ahead of its time, at least as far as trends like bigotry tend to go. I'm not sure which is more amusing: the song title itself terming the worldwide homo population in the singular, thus redefining God's hatred in a more philosophical bent, or the curious band name (why add the word Weather to EndTimes?). Either way, it's an oddly appropriate ditty now that activist judges in California are commanding the Real America to abort babies on command before forcing school children into shotgun weddings with their gay neighbors.

Christian Rock Band Makes Music Video. Hilarity Ensues.

Gauging from the talent with which they've been blessed, their God must really hate them. Perhaps they're not praying hard enough?

Christianity Declares Major Victory Over Hedonistic Homosexual Lifestyle Choice in Decisive Fight Over the Soul of America’s Youth

May 20, 11:44 PM EDT

By LYNN ELBER
AP Television Writer

LOS ANGELES (AP) – Religious activists across America were celebrating in the streets as clean-cut Christian vocalist Kris Allen took the most votes to become the 2009 American Idol, signaling what is seen by many leading experts as the final nail in the coffin for homosexuality.

Openly gay runner-up Adam Lambert fell far short of the votes needed to win this year’s competition, thus prohibiting him from overthrowing the Holy Kingdom of God, and his defeat has sent reverberations throughout the Christian community.

“It is such a relief that our faith has scored this huge victory,” said 15-year-old Ron Byrd of the Coalition Of Christian Kids (COCK). “Some might see American Idol as a fluffy, pointless singing competition but, in actuality, it’s a final battle of good vs. evil created by Jesus Christ Our Lord and Savior to decide, once and for all, the final outcome over the souls of America’s youth. Tonight’s final tally makes Christian faith the true victor for all eternity.”

Almost immediately, homosexual social centers such as urban gay bars, lesbian knitting clubs and Banana Republic clothing boutiques began their shameful dismantling, conceding defeat to the onslaught of Christian votes which decided their fate forevermore.

“Although we do not agree with tonight’s decision, we accept it with humility and grace,” said the President and CEO of Gay America, Sandra Weibel in a written statement. “The Christian Right certainly showed us who is in charge. They have won in what is certainly the single most important face-off our two opposing lifestyles have ever faced, and now that they have outnumbered us for good, we will quietly close shop and never be heard from again.”

Many notable Christian activists such as Ted Haggard had spent the last 48 hours encouraging their followers to vote for Kris Allen over Adam Lambert in an effort to finally show the unrelenting Homosexual Cabal across America that Christianity would not shy away from this momentous crusade of Biblical proportions, as epitomized in a ratings-laden pop culture singing game show.

“Now that the death of Homosexuality has been fulfilled, the Coalition Of Christian Kids can move on to other important issues,” Byrd said. “COCK is very important in my life and has shown me the way to true happiness. COCK has been good to me and I want to devote more time to it, because I love COCK.”

Snake In The Ass

Oh, Maya Rudolph, you multi-hyphenate talent of indeterminate racial origin! When we locked eyes earlier this morning--you in your Earth Mother finery, me in my Homo-Lite office wear--it made me giggle in all those secret places. I swooned and tingled, much the same way I feel when listening to the music of Luie Luie, another superstar of possibly unknown ethnicity (but almost certainly what some would call Fiery Latin). It would be appropriate to say his music touches me, but seeing how almost all the songs on Touchy are about touching (El Touchy, Sweet and Tender Touchy, Tortilla Touchy, Touch of the Pharaohs, etc) perhaps this comes off as redundant. Let me instead say it's as if each out-of-control trumpet is personally goosing me in my tender regions, reaching for the gold, scoring a touchdown only God himself can achieve with his magic, serpent-like fingertips.

Plain and White (Except For That One Black Guy, And Can Someone Tell Me What Made Him Join This Honky Band?)

Today, we examine the painfully romantic lyrics of the new hit "Hey There Delilah" by America's newest sure-to-be-around-forever sensation Plain White T's:

Hey there Delilah
What's it like in New York City?
I'm a thousand miles away
But girl tonight you look so pretty

[Here the protagonist professes his love for a young woman living in New York City. Mirroring the plot of an Ed Burns film, post-collegiate young people sometimes have trouble connecting romantically with others in their age group/social status while residing in a metropolis of over three billion people. The implicit irony is that even when one is surrouned by such a teeming mass of humans, one can still feel alone. Also, "city" sure does rhyme well with "pretty"--it's why God invented the Rhyming Dictionary.]

Yes you do
Time Square can't shine as bright as you
I swear it's true

[Other phrases that might have worked in this rhyme scheme: I puked my brew; I'm not a Jew; I ate Elmer's Glue; You gave me the flu; Flour and fat make roux.]

Hey there Delilah
Don't you worry about the distance
I'm right there if you get lonely
Give this song another listen
Close your eyes
Listen to my voice it's my disguise
I'm by your side

[Here, the protagonist entices the young woman to "close her eyes", and mentions a "disguise". This is what therapists call the two warning phrases of date rape.]

Oh it's what you do to me
Oh it's what you do to me
Oh it's what you do to me
Oh it's what you do to me
What you do to me

[Here, there are two possible scenarios being played out. 1) The power of what the young woman does to the singer are so powerful that a single phrase repeated many times conveys the emotional impact of this romantic interaction. Or, 2) the songwriter simply ran out of lyrics and went for broke.]

Hey there Delilah
I know times are getting hard
But just believe me girl
Someday I'll pay the bills with this guitar

[The singer has, indeed, reached his goal and is now paying bills with his guitar. The end result should now be that the young woman will be impressed with his bread-winning abilities and, thus, will now "put out". Whereas most young men of a certain upward physical stature would simply "put the moves" on such a female, the singer here--being ungainly, awkward and rail-thin--must write songs such as this to acheive the same effect.]

We'll have it good
We'll have the life we knew we would
My word is good

[In a puzzling move, the songwriter rhymes "good" with "good", inserting "would" to achieve some structural balance. While there are few additional phrases which might have worked, experts agree that "I rule this 'hood" would also assert itself as a boast to make the young woman "put out".]

Hey there Delilah
I've got so much left to say
If every simple song I wrote to you
Would take your breath away
I'd write it all
Even more in love with me you'd fall
We'd have it all

[In a brilliant stroke, the songwriter sheilds himself from music critics by using the phrase "every simple song". It reinforces the idea that this song is "from the heart" and therefore can withstand the lofty academic ruminations which would attempt to tear it down and label it aural bathwater. This is the same defense strategy used by Paul McCartney for his 1976 smash hit "Silly Love Songs".]

Oh it's what you do to me
Oh it's what you do to me
Oh it's what you do to me
Oh it's what you do to me

[Here, the songwriter seems to make the bold assertion that if he simply repeats this already-redundant phrase four more times, the impact of these words upon the listener will increase ten-fold.]

A thousand miles seems pretty far
But they've got planes and trains and cars
I'd walk to you if I had no other way

[Love can travel across vast differences--be they geographical, physical, emotional, spiritual, financial or sexual. Would love, however, walk a thousand miles just to be with someone? Even someone so willing to "put out"? Not when there are hundreds of other women just as eager to "put out" living just a few blocks from the singer's apartment.]

Our friends would all make fun of us
and we'll just laugh along because we know
That none of them have felt this way

[Nobody in the entire history of human existance has ever experienced love before, only the singer and the young woman to whom he is crooning. The singer and the young woman are uniquely qualified to feel the sensations of love because the young woman has promised the singer that she will "put out".]

Delilah I can promise you
That by the time we get through
The world will never ever be the same
And you're to blame

[In a striking reversal, the singer blames the young woman for all the world's sins: lust, poverty, pollution, suffering, etc.]

Hey there Delilah
You be good and don't you miss me
Two more years and you'll be done with school
And I'll be making history like I do
You know it's all because of you
We can do whatever we want to
Hey there Delilah here's to you
This ones for you

[The singer puts down the young woman again, this time by slamming her life's choices: He is "making history" writing hearfelt deeply personal music which touches the souls of listeners around the world, while she is merely finishing a Master's Degree in Cognitive Physics. The singer is a putz.]

Oh it's what you do to me
Oh it's what you do to me
Oh it's what you do to me
Oh it's what you do to me
What you do to me.

[For good measure, the key phrase is repeated four more times. This will be useful for live performances during which the audience can be engage in a now-this-half-of-the-room sing along.]

The Baffling Music I Listened To In The Days Of My Sappy Youth (Before I Discovered Punk Rock and Everything Changed For The Better) (Part 1)

First in a series.
Religion and I never got along, even during my tenure as a pre-pubescent squirt, yet I found myself drawn towards hippy-dippy retellings of The Bible. Sadly, like millions of record-collecting dullards of the '70's, this meant owning the original motion picture soundtrack to Godspell (purchased at a thrift strore, I recall). The faux-funky gospel-tinged stylings of Light Of The World were somewhat alluring to my white-bread suburban ear canals, while All For The Best seemed, at the time, to be an absolute ovation-rendering showstopper. I was convinced it was The Most Perfect Foot-Tapping Showtune Ever Written. I never quite understood what Beautiful City was about...I still don't. I also seem to remember thinking All Good Gifts was telegraphing some important messages about...Thanksgiving??? Perhaps it was advising us to be nice to snails, being grateful for the foods we toss out after eating too much...? I never had a clue. Back then, the lyrics of By My Side seemed so deep and earnest. Today, it gives me the same painful shudder I experience upon hearing certain tracks by R.E.M. (circa Green). I was in the 4th grade and a total know-nothing. Please forgive me.

Killer Queens

I've been up since 5:30am, unable to slumber peacefully after being awakened by 10 minutes of gunfire rounds going off near my 'hood. Eventually, it occurred to me that it was my heavily Mexican/Catholic neighbors lighting strings of firecrackers in honor of Jesus' birth. Or Jesus' death. Or whatever the hell the morning after Good Fucking Friday is supposed to represent. What else can a poor boy do--besides play in a rock and roll band-- but get out of bed and put on some Cobra Killer jams like Without A Sun and Chemie Des Alltags to get the day started right? If Cobra Killer were a liquid morning stimulant, Starbucks would already be out of business. Take that, corporate weed!

The Silent Scream

A punk rock friend of mine exclusively listens to punk rock and lives the punk rock lifestyle (regularly dining on triple-patty burgers washed down with thick shakes, paid mostly with a collection of spare change). He tried, in vain, to rape my ears with the strains of the FM Knives but I was too busy absorbing the squishy pansy-ass feelings of Sufjan Stevens and eating vegetarian nut roast with a side of lemon-drizzled radicchio while wearing sweatshop-free loungewear from American Apparel. Eventually, my hearing went "boi-i-i-innnng!" and punk rock seduced my heart through the likes of Automatic.

In a related story, I recently asked a punk rock acquaintance to brainwash the tastebuds of the windmills of my mind. Rest assured, he is punk rock but I don't know him well enough to be aware of his dining habits. My assumption is that, being a punk rock, he eats grease and lard and antler parts and sniffs glue for dessert like all the punk rocks do. But never you mind--the main thrust of my story is this: he tells me listen to The Carbonas--which is well and good--but why didn't he set me up on a blind date with Les Breastfeeders instead? Yes, that name is perfection itself, but the music has impregnated me with the sperm of shout yelling on Ostrogoth-À-Gogo and Viens Avec Moi, and why would I ever want to abort such a precious gift?

God Said "Wha...?"

God: Are you leaving us, my son?
Disco:Very: Only for a short while.
God: Where are you going?
DV: To the 2007 Sundance Film Festival in Park City, Utah.
God: Will you see any celebrities?
DV: Perhaps. Mostly, I will be avoiding celebrities.
God: Care to name which ones you'll be avoiding?
DV: The ones still wearing "Vote For Pedro" t-shirts two years after they went out of style.
God: Will you come back?
DV: No, I plan on setting up a permanent domicile under the seats of the Egyptian Theatre. Of course I'm coming back! Jeez, I mean, c'mon, the festival isn't year-round or anything! I'll be back on Wednesday night.
God: What films will you see?
DV: I know what I won't be seeing: anything remotely connected to John Sayles; anything starring Zach Braff; anything about indie rock kids looking for love in the big city; any movie using the following bands in its soundtrack: The Postal Service, Jet, The Doves, Phantom Planet, Death Cab For Cutie, Keane or Beulah.
God: That doesn't leave much else.
DV: No shit, Sherlock. It means I'll only be catching, like, the new one by David Gordon Green and a documentary or two about border crossings and that's about it.
God: Do you have a nice lodging situation set up?
DV:: Hella, yes. My crib will be the shit.
God: Can I stay with you?
DV: There isn't any room.
God: But you're staying at a 2-room suite in a swank resort and--
DV: You don't want to stay with me. I snore and I'm a major slob. Also, I don't want to share a bathroom with you and find your holy pubes on the soap dish.
God: I don't have pubes.
DV: Everyone has pubes.
God: Only those weighted to earthly desires.
DV: Nobody desires pubes. They just happen.
God: Silence! Your Lord and Savior does not have pubes!
DV: Alright, alright, don't get your flowing robes in a twist. Whatever, I just want to be alone, is all.
God: Fine. You will be alone for all eternity, writhing in agony amongst the flames of hell.
DV: A sphincter says what?
God: What?
DV: Perfect.

Hell Is For Soon-To-Be-41-Year-Old Children

I die of a massive coronary, and in a dreadfully ironic twist, it turns out for this hardcore atheist there actually is a hell. While it's true the temperatures are extemely hot, I was born and raised in Phoenix, AZ so I'm pretty good at dealing with the heat. Of course, being Hades, there is not much to do except writhe in agony and suffer in all eternity for my sins (oh, so many sins) committed while alive here on Earth. The good news is that Satan has found it in his dirty black little heart to provide his minions with entertainment. The bad news is that there are only two choices: 1) non-stop, back-to-back 24-hour performances of Movin' Out, and 2) an endless loop of this music video (if I ever decide to direct a biopic of the band Journey, I'm casting this guy as Steve Perry). I hope those of you reading this will heed my words and turn your lives around now, while you still have the chance. I wouldn't wish this fate on even my worst enemies (well, perhaps just on Billy Joel).