Tearin' Up My Ass

The walls of one of Saddam Hussein's perverted Iraqi love palaces were lustily papered with glossy magazine spreads, and not glossy newspaper cutouts of Britney Spears, who remains ever glossy. And if that doesn't prove something or other, what does?

And when I heard NOT ONLY that Joey Fatone is planning to ride the *NSYNC pony as long as humanly possible (and in the most pitiful of ways) by recording an album of Yankovic-esque *NSYNC parody songs, but that one of the proposed parodies is "Tearin' Up My Ass" (torn "Ass" of course replacing torn "Heart"), well, I just about masturbated.

And if that doesn't prove something or other....

This is a very special Celebrity I Saw U, as we'll soon depart from célébrité to focus on things other. But before we do, can I just say that Madonna "raps" like somebody's brain-damaged mother? Please? And that Courteney Cox is pregnant, Michael Jackson is absolutely no closer to convincing anybody, and yes, it's true that Justin Timberlake and glossy, glossy Britney Spears spent the entire night together again recently at Justin's shabby-chic Hollywood Hills boudoir, no doubt crank-calling cute boys and ordering unwanted pizzas to Christina Aguilera's house. And you KNOW it sa-tis-fies.

All right. Let's discuss some higher-concept vapid pith. Why? Because we are tight in the terrible grip of fascism (the fucking DIXIE CHICKS are being blacklisted for their political opinions? Helloooo). And there is no better antidote for (and threat to) the cold gray uniformity of fascism than fabulous thinking, creatively executed. Like the just recently fabled Guerrilla Masquerade Party, or GMP.

Get the concept: Very cool and artsy people dress like fabulous retards and invade local clubs, forcing gaiety, celebration, and a singular bacchanalian splendor down the joy-starved throats of unsuspecting sots. It's inspired by "the Club Kids of the early '90s who DIDN'T chop up their drug dealers" (meow) and "local drag sensations Jackie Hell, Ursula Android, and Sylvia O'Stayformore." GMP's nonpolitical agenda is to "add a little variety to Seattle's nightlife, and a little chaos while we're at it." Last Saturday GMP invaded gay, gay R Place with an impromptu garden party: Giant bumblebees frolicked with garden gnomes, who frolicked with bearded guys in gingham garden dresses, who frolicked with other guys in gingham garden dresses. It was a glorious swath of sunshine, and I highly recommend attending one of these events (look here: www.home.earthlink.net/~gmpseattle). And luckily for breeder types, GMP isn't limited to fags. "But if you feel uncomfortable around 'the gays,' you should probably stay home," says GMP--which is always good advice, I think.