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Ladies and gentlemen of the press, invited guests, good morning and welcome to New Orleans. My name is Ray Nagin, and I am your king.

No, just kidding, just kidding. Totally kidding. But seriously–could you imagine if I’d said that for real and all? Omigod, that’d be so freaky! One of y’all would Photoshopped a tiara on this bald, sexy head before I was done talking, and that’d be all she wrote. Hell, that’d make for some news. Maybe get me on the cover of the Picayune. They don’t talk about me much over there anymore.

But seriously, folks. I’m the mayor of New Orleans, and I’d like to invite each and every one of you to bow down and lick my balls.

Sorry, sorry–just kidding again. Did I fool you twice? I honestly think I saw some of you start to lean over! Andy Cooper, I’m looking at you. Troy Carter? You, too. Don’t gimme that look, bro. I know you at least thought about it. I’m not stupid.

But enough of all that. I invited you here today to talk about the recovery and rebuilding that’s going on in New Orleans. Despite facing a lot of hurdles at the state and federal level, I think we’re doing a fantastic job, and I’d like to take personal credit for each and every good thing that’s happening around the city.

Now, I know there are some people out there who think I don’t do anything, They think I just show up to check the mail and talk about how vagina-friendly I am. But you know, from the minute I finish my workout at 10:00am ’till I leave for Commander’s Palace at 11:30am, I am in my office working. Talking to people. Smoking things. Looking at stuff. You know: mayor stuff. I work a lot.

I also know that some people are saying that neighborhood groups should get the credit for New Orleans’ recovery. But if that’s true, they ought to take the blame, too. Why can’t they fix our roads? Why can’t they fix our schools, huh? Why can’t they do something about the spiraling crime rate? Man, I’m scared to walk from my Town Car to the tennis court for fear of being touched by some homeless guy. I mean, I don’t swing that way….

Whoa. Is the room spinning for any of y’all? I better sit down…. That’s better. Now, where was I?

Oh yeah: But the neighborhood groups won’t take responsibility for all that junk, so I don’t think they should get any credit, either. So I say we abolish neighborhood groups and give all the credit back to me. You know, credit for all that stuff I’m doing. And the blame should lay squarely where it belongs: with Bobby Jindal and ol’ whatshisname. My chief of police? That guy. He did it. Not me.

Now before I let y’all go, let me just remind you:

I am important!

I am a valuable member of this community!

I’m good enough, I’m strong enough, and gosh darnit, people like me!

I blew Richard Speck!

No just kidding again. That was some shit in some crazy movie I saw one night when my wife was out of town and my boy Troy and I got high. On life–high on life, man. Because I would never smoke crack. With Troy. Again.

I’m not the World’s Biggest Opera Fan, but I’d hit that.

Please take a good look at the photo of Karl Lagerfeld above. Go ahead. I’ll wait.

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What. Is. Up. With. That. Hairline?

My thoughts:

• The Kaiser could be wearing a wig. A heavily powdered wig.

• The hair could be his, but his scalp is as white–though not as pure–as the driven snow. Meaning that the Face That Launched a Thousand Tweed Suits is covered in bronzer.

• Karl is actually the guy who played Powder in that movie. You know, Powder?

• All of the above.

The strangest thing? In the New York magazine article from which that photo was pilfered, there is absolutely no mention of the strangeness. Which is stranger than the strangeness itself. Talk about your white elephants in the room….

I am not a fan of religion.

That should not be news to anyone. I’m a gay guy from Mississippi who was raised in the Southern Baptist church, went away to a liberal arts college, read some Sartre, came out of the closet, and never darkened the door of a church again. My story is not only typical, it’s stereotypical–so stereotypical, in fact, that other people have already written my story, better than I ever could. If I could only find my rainbow beads, I’d be wearing them right now. Sigh.

(NB #1: There are two exceptions to my “no churches” rule–weddings and funerals–but they still make me nervous and angry and occasionally give me gas. Which, as I recall, is kinda how Linda Blair reacted when she got that visit from her parish priest. Just sayin’.)

None of this is to imply that I don’t respect religion or the people who’ve got it (even though some would argue that such pacifism/relativism is just as dangerous as religion itself). I mean, even I kinda have a spiritual side, but unlike a lot of religious folks I know, I don’t throw my beliefs around like they’re something that should be of interest to anyone else. Basically, I think people should be nice to one another–not too complex a philosophy, IMHO. (NB #2: Another sterotypical position. Sue me.)

Needless to say, I was pretty happy to see this editorial in today’s New York Times:

This Father’s Day, one of most popular pastors in America will open his megachurch to homosexual dads, an event that would usually signal an extreme weather alert from old guard Republican evangelical leaders.

But by welcoming gay fathers into his Southern California flock, Rick Warren, author of the “The Purpose Driven Life,” is not just living up to the highest standards of Christian fellowship, he’s turning the page on a particularly embarrassing part of our politics….

The good tidings from Warren’s Saddleback Church come at a time when Barack Obama has ditched his incendiary ex-preacher, and John McCain has separated himself from the apocalyptical Hagee.

It’s a start, but how about a clean break? Let’s go Godless for the rest of the campaign…..

— New York Times

Of course, it’s all pie in the sky, but given the godtalk filling our airwaves and the internetz, it’s a nice break. At least for me.

Holy freakin’ crap:

Bobby Jindal, the 36-year old governor of Louisiana, is being taken seriously by the national press as a candidate on the shortlist to be John McCain’s Vice President. No one doubts that he’s a political prodigy — his impressive resume includes stints as president of the state university system, a Congressman and now governor.

But one of Jindal’s job titles hasn’t gotten much attention — and it just might prompt a few questions if his Veep candidacy gains steam: Exorcist.

We’ve discovered that in an essay Jindal wrote in 1994 for the New Oxford Review, a serious right-wing Catholic journal, Jindal narrated a bizarre story of a personal encounter with a demon, in which he participated in an exorcism with a group of college friends. And not only did they cast out the supernatural spirit that had possessed his friend, Jindal wrote that he believes that their ritual may well have cured her cancer…. [emphasis mine]

And from Jindal’s essay:

It appeared as if we were observing a tremendous battle between the Susan we knew and loved and some strange evil force. But the momentum had shifted and we now sensed that victory was at hand.

While Alice and Louise held Susan, her sister continued holding the Bible to her face. Almost taunting the evil spirit that had almost beaten us minutes before, the students dared Susan to read biblical passages. She choked on certain passages and could not finish the sentence “Jesus is Lord.” Over and over, she repeated “Jesus is L..L..LL,” often ending in profanities. In between her futile attempts, Susan pleaded with us to continue trying and often smiled between the grimaces that accompanied her readings of Scripture. Just as suddenly as she went into the trance, Susan suddenly reappeared and claimed “Jesus is Lord.”

— read all the fabulousness at TalkingPointsMemo.com

I mean, I had some extreme moments in college, but, uh, nothing quite like that. Not while I was sober, anyway.

Thanks for the link, Tyler. Holy crap, thanks for the link.

Bad news: Representative Ernest Wooton (R-Belle Chasse) introduced a bill into the Louisiana legislature that would allow concealed handguns on college campuses throughout the state.

Good news: The Louisiana legislature told Representative Wooten and his wingnut cronies to shove it. At least this session.

Bad news: The legislature’s hesitancy to allow students to pack heat might have something to do with the college tuition hike they just approved. ‘Cause, you know, angry, indebted young people aren’t always a force for good.

Great news: This artist has re-envisioned Pac Man in samurai style:

Want!

There is something strange and magnificent going on in that photo above. Can you guess what it is?

Can you?

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Give up?

That’s right: it’s a mailbox. A damned mailbox (though Pastor Hagee might prefer to think of it as a mailbox of the damned). For those not from New Orleans, this may not seem like a big deal, but trust me: it’s a big freakin’ deal.

In keeping with my weirdly-obsessive-for-no-good-reason tendencies, this morning I got distracted digging around for videos set to “Gay Bar” by Electric Six. Absolutely pointless, I know. And yet, somehow fulfilling.

Not surprisingly, there are a lot of crappy ones in the genre, but there are also a few gems (all of which get very loud, so, you know, plug in the ‘phones if you’re surfing on The Man’s dime out there in Cubicle Land):

• The plushie gay bar.
• The All Your Base-esque mashup gay bar (but only for the parking lot Stormtrooper, really).
• The flying Viking kitty gay bar.
• The super-minimal World of Warcraft performance gay bar.
• And, of course, the longtime standard of gay bar vids, the original World of Warcraft gay bar:

Can I get that Girl Scout badge in library science now, plz?

Yeah, that’s right: I fixed it myself. Kiss my McGuyver ass, Mr. Gates.

Oh, ye bitches of little faith.

FRIDAY NIGHT VIDEOS! BUT DURING THE DAY!

On the left, a wee homage to the Tony Awards–which, for you non-gays, is the annual celebration of Broadway theatre that takes place a week from Sunday, on June 15. It’s awwwwwfully gay. And so’s the clip. (Also kinda hot, if you’re turned on by the thought of a fully clothed Nathan Lane squirming in a room full of mostly naked, glabrous twinkletoes.)

On the right, the newest single from Beyonce’s younger sister, Solange. (Them girls can’t stand a surname.) I’m kinda digging on the beat–it’s spare and minimal and fairly “now”–but the video concept is a little obvious, a little “haven’t we seen this before?”, a little presumptuous, even. Like, girl, don’t even try to imply you’re in the same boat with Miss Ross and Nona Hendryx. Anyway, the full album drops in August. Let’s hope for her sake and for the sake of her mother’s retirement fund it fares better than her first pop foray. Yeesh.