I know it's a crime, but...

This woman is a 23 year old teacher accused of having sex with one of her 14 year old male students:



Okay, I know it was a crime, but it was consentual, and she's pretty damned cute. Lord knows if Mrs. H***, my English teacher, had come on to me when I was 14 I would have gladly consented and considered myself lucky for the priviledge. All I'm saying is barring any intimidation, coersion or force, this wasn't a criminal act. What this woman needs is therapy, not jail time. The boy needs nothing, except perhaps a big bag to carry around his massive ego over the next few years. So in conclusion: She has nice tits.

Why Ed Gillespie is a dirty, dirty Motherfucker.

This man is Ed Gillespie, chairman of the Republican National Committee:




He is currently falsly claiming that democratic organizations are hiring sex offenders to canvas door-to-door to register people to vote.

If that weren't enough, last week he ran an ad on thr RNC website that compared Al Gore, John Kerry and many other prominent democrats to Hitler. He got away with it by saying the images of Hilter came from 'Move On', a liberal 527 group. While this was technically true, the images came from a 'create your own anti-Bush commecial' campaign 'Move On' did that resulted in over 1600 submissions. When Move On were notified that only 2 out of the 1600 had references to Hitler, they promptly removed them and an apology was printed. They didn't remove them fast enough, however, because the RNC copied them and now have those self-same images in shots next to Kerry and Gore.

This man does not understand democracy and does not deserve freedom. I'll defend his right to be a major league asshole but if I ever get within 100 feet of him and know it, I'm going to beat him to within an inch of his life as a payback to Ben Franklin, Geo. Washington, Alexander Hamilton and every patriot he's insulted by being both stupid and powerful.

Wedded Bris...

I am officially married. More WNTW stories coming before it airs. you'll have the entire scoop on what to look for well in advance, I assure you.

Faux News: Scared Straight?

Is Fox News turning on Bush? First O'lielly starts Dinging Bush for WMD lies, then they call for the resignation of Rumsfeld and now this:

A Fox News review of Fahrenheit 9/11 that declares the film is 'a tribute to patriotism, to the American sense of duty' and 'not seeing "F9/11" would be like allowing your First Amendment rights to be abrogated'.

This is a dream, isn't it? It cannot possibly be true.

Love is a many blendered thing.

Now that I'm a fashion king extraordinaire, what better way to celebrate than officially binding myself to one woman for the rest of my natural-born life?

Wedding countdown: 2 days 23 hours 2 minutes and 32 seconds.

Actually, I cannot wait. I already got an expresso machine (which apparently I'm NOT allowed to use until I actually marry the princess), I love playing dress up, I love my fiancee, and our menu contains items from the Inn at Little Washington. Roasted Red Bell Pepper Soup. Mmmmmmmmmm.

PS. Tomorrow is my all-day bachelor party, so expect no updates until maybe Friday, but even then I wouldn't hold my breath.

WNTW Diaries pt 7: Miles Davis Eyes

So the very first day of shooting began on a Sunday, which was a rarity made necessity out of the fact that we were a double show (Nik and I both). The rareness of the Sunday shoot was confirmed by the massive hangovers held by all participating; From the cameramen on down to the assistants, stylists and even the hosts (who for reasons of anonimity shall remain nameless) hangovers abounded.
That day's shooting schedule called for the review of the secret footage, the 360 mirror, the review of our new clothes choices and the trashing of our old clothes. Roughly, it's about 12 minutes of the show.

It took 14 hours to shoot.

First, they filmed us carrying our luggage to the car, then again, then again because some oblivious New Yorker walked into our shot, then again, then from a different angle. Then we drove the 5 blocks to the studio, where they repeated the process in reverse. The luggage got there this time because they had a limo for the trip shot and we were able to pile it all into the back.
once inside the studio the first sight I viewed was the outfit gnomes working hard to assemble my 'new look' outfit on a mannequin. It should be noted that this mannequin was about 5'8" and had a 32 inch waist. I have a 32 inch THIGH. As I wandered toward the coffee machine near the outfit (slamming coffee being part of my desperate attempt to shit away 20 pounds before appearing on camera) the gnomes instinctively scattered into their secret holes chanting 'No fair, mustn't see the outfit, doompity-day'!
The long shooting schedule montony was broken up by the fact that at least 2/3rds of the people involved in the production are British, and since there is an international law (U.N. mandate, I think) that ALL brits are required to like soccer, we had a field day discussing my jerseys. Oh, and about those Jerseys, they tried to throw away my Arsenal and D.C. United jerseys and were soundly rebuked. I have them to this day.

Side Note: Stacy tore the 'J' off the 'JVC' on my Arsenal 2000 jersey (The year they won the double) and I nearly went ballistic. When you see it on tape you will see that I am not having fun there. That's just bad luck.

Basically, the day consisted of saying something, being told I couldn't say that, retaking it, saying something clever, being forced to resay it so they could get canned reaction shots, looking at myself under an extreme, shadowless light, reviewing videotape of me looking my absolute worst and 20 pounds heavier than I actually am and noshing every 4 hours on pretty decent catered food. At the end of the day I took my tired feet to the bar for 4 or 5 guinness. This is apparently the norm for reality TV.

Second Side Note: Clinton (the host) is allergic to cats. We have 5. When we did the 'old clothes dump' scene, he sneezed about 850 times. poor guy. in those halogen lights you can really see all the dander in the air.

Amateur Freud, Interpret this please:

Here a very strange dream I had last night.

I was back in Austin and somehow I got roped into a demented Beer-run with Ken Kesey and Neal Cassady, though Ken looked a lot more like a cross between the weirdo leader of Aum Shinri Kyo and this fascistic a-hole who lived in the co-op about 10 years ago. We spent the majority of the trip in the hill country, popping peyote and lifting cases of pearl-in-a-can at every gas station we saw. Pretty soon the law were after us.
We made to hold out at a beat down farm full of half-fed horses and pigs. When we approached, we caught sight of an old man trying to nail his granddaughter, who was this really cute, 18 something blonde. We beat him off her and then me and the blonde made for the hills. Up there we did it and blondie did things to me the likes of which I cannot describe to decent folk, suffice to say that when I came, it was powerful enough to warp time and space, briefly depositing me naked in a 19th century Bedouin camp. This did not go unnoticed by the Bedouins, who made ready to behead me, but luckily, the make orgasm is a quick thing and I returned to the 21st century.
Me and blondie made our way back where we devised to do the creepy grandpa in by sticking him in the pen with all the tortured and underfed horses of his. Pretty soon, they dashed his brains out. Meanwhile, we went about making like country sheriffs and faking like we were the first on the scene of a horrible accident. The county investigator showed up and was buying it, hook-line-and sinker, until he pointed to a nightstand that was laying next to the fence, and more importantly, a raw t-bone steak that was lying on top of it. For some reason, the raw meat meant the jig was up and we’d been discovered. I woke up after that.

What could it all possibly mean? Discuss.

WNTW Diaries: The Journey Begins

So we made the trip last Saturday. The train ride was awesome. I ate a little, I napped. It was the most relaxing part of the trip.

Our cheap luggage began exploding in Penn Station. First it was a clasp or two, but soon, wheels were coming off.

To put it in perspective, we had all the clothing and shoe belongings of a shoes-horse man and a clothes-horse woman. Or in another perspective, 5 extra large travel bags (approx 3' x 4' x 2') weighing near or about one heaping fuckload.

In Penn station we argued about which way was the best way to get to 7th avenue. I favored staying below ground on level ground with fewer people and air conditioning, but her 'take-it-to-the-streets' idea won out. My luggage fell over 7 times on the uneven pavement.

The driver assigned to pick us up was mighty pissed at the amount of luggage we had. Well, he can just fuck himself and his herniated disc, I'm the one that had to carry it everywhere else and it ain't my fault the good folks at BBC sent the Lincoln instead of the Dodge Caravan. Oh, and buddy, fuck your laptop, you're here to drive me and my luggage around New York, not look at porn. It'll be fine under the seat for 5 freaking minutes.

The hotel was really, really sweet. Battery park city (It's Locale), however, is lame. By 6:30 pm there wasn't a person to be found. What can you say about a place where half the bars CLOSE at 5 pm. Oh, and you can't smoke in the bars. And when you smoke on the streets, people look at you as if you killed Christ.

Just across the water from us was Jersey City, which does allow smoking in bars. Just along the shoreline I sat huddled with a small group of smokers who lifted their collars up against the cold Hudson breeze and stared longingly across the river toward that shining beacon of excess that is Hoboken and Seacaucus. How fucked up is Bloomberg? He's made New Yorkers envious of Jersey.

I put my lady love to bed and went to the nearest bar I could find. A&M Roadhouse. Good people, cheap Guinness. I could only get through 3 that night because I kept having to go outside sans-bier to smoke. Perhaps that was a good thing. The car was supposed to pick us up at 7:30 am the next day.

I was not the only person to go out drinking that night, however...

WNTW Diaries Pt. 5: What not to Whore

I'll give more details in a couple of days, but I am having much success getting my fiancee out of clunky, round shoes and into 4 inch stilettos with pointy toes. Cable television kicks fifteen tons of ass.

WNTW Diaries pt. 4: Woo-Hoo, Choo-Choo!

Common sense won out so we will be taking the iron horse up to New York tomorrow, avoiding 'the thing that defies the laws of physics'. In just a scant 24 hours from now I board a train with my lovely fiancee and our spiritual quest toward fashion nirvana begins.

It will be difficult.

Even with Gurus the likes of Stacy and Clinton, we will face multiple challenges.

In order to find harmony between all things haute I must practice humility, sacrifice my pride, accept that all material possessions create conflict and practice my mantras: ac-cess-o-rize, ac-cess-o-rize, ac-cess-o-rize.
If I work towards these things with a clear mind and a light heart, somewhere between Thomas Pink and DKNY I should achieve the spontaneous fulfillment of desire and reach a state of total style consciousness.




Oh, and apparently I'm getting married in 15 days.

One Down, 250 to go

CIA director George tenet has resigned. No doubt as a result of the president demanding his resignation last week (that would be Al Gore).

Now all we have to do is to get the resignations of Rice, Wolfowitz, Rumsfeld, Powell, Powell (michael), Feith, Cheney, Mueller, Thompson, Hughes, Libby, Matalin, Rove, McClellan and Chao.

WNTW Diaries Pt. 3: What knot to whizz

I'm bringing my ties. My ties. I don't even know what ties I have. I own like 10. I think there's a looney tunes one in there, a jackson pollack thing, some h0ldover from the 80's thin ties, maybe even a sock tie (though if there is one, I'll burn it myself). I wear maybe one a year. But they want to see them, along with my socks, and hats and belt and -EEP- underwear.

It's finally sinking in that I'm going because yesterday we bought the massive luggage that will be required to haul everything. It's freaking out the cats because they know what luggage means: Either we're leaving them for an extended period of time or they're going to the vet. Either option tends not to fill them with joy. They've spent the last day since the appearance of the luggage alternating between barfing on things and peeing on things. At least this time if they barf/pee on our laundry, it's not longer our problem.

Bubble, bubble, Rove in Trouble....

Meet this woman:


Stephanie Herseth

Who went into South Dakota and won a special election for a seat in the house of representatives formely owned by a republican, even though shes' young, politically inexperienced, a woman (it is South Dakota) and a Democrat.

Now is about the time Karl Rove returns to the basement where he keeps his witches and asks them 'Wait, did you say I 'couldn't be killed by a man', or 'no man of woman borne?'

WNTW Diaries Pt. 2: What not to Where?

They're putting us up in Manhattan, near battery park. Sounds like a nice hotel (Not the Algonquin, but hey this is cable), and it could have been a lot worse. The studios and hotel could have been in Rockaway or -EEP- Jersey City.

We are currently having a hard time explaining to them that I'm not getting on a stupid hop-jet to fly 250 miles. Let me explain, no, there is too much, lemme sum up:

1. I hate to fly, this fear predates 9/11 and probably goes back to the first of my family that ever fell out of a tree. Quoth 'The Tick': 'Gravity is a harsh mistress'.

2. More to the point, the train is a beautiful, elegant way to travel, and for a 6'3" 200-something pound behemoth such as myself, it's the most comfortable.

3. I will be carrying all the clothes, hats, belts and shoes I own. I may be a dude, but that's still more than will fit in an overhead compartment.

4. When you factor in travelling to Dulles or BWI airport, plus the 2 hour 'sure you're not a terrorist?' hoedown, plus flying time, plus taxiing time, plus luggage retrieval time, plus taxi flagging time, plus travel time from LaGuardia or JFK into Manhattan and it's actually longer to fly than to take the train. I live less than a mile from Union station and I'm going to be staying less than a mile from Penn station. With the train, you show up 15 minutes before hand with as much luggage as you can muster, get on in downtown DC, get off at the bottom of Manhattan. Also, at no point on the trip will you plummet out of the sky.

So BBC/TLC, if you're listening, I will pony up the extra 30 bucks per ticket to take the train.

WNTW Diaries Pt. 1: It's a new show on TLC: 'What not to Wed'

The Lazy Sunbather exclusive!!!


Unbeknownst to me, my lovely Fiancee nominated me for TLC's hit show 'What Not To Wear' and lo and behold, Clinton and Stacy surprised me at our wedding shower last Friday.

I have been secretly filmed for weeks.

Some of the highlights:

They got me ranting drunkenly at the ref in a D.C. United match.
They got me sleeping, mouth wide open, on the metro.
They got me in a lovely white-on-white ensemble.
They got me with plumber-butt.
They got me in a Morrissey t-shirt, swim trunks and flip flops as I ran an 'errand' for my fiancee.

Seriously, though, it will be a blast to have my life torn apart and then rebuilt by Kenneth Cole. :-)


It also helps immensely that they secretly videotaped my camera-fearing fiancee and are going to put her through the wringer as well. :-)


Follow the story as our dual humiliation unfolds.