The [North Korean] spokesman called Clinton “by no means intelligent” and a “funny lady.”

— CNN

Interesting. In America, we know Clinton to be not only very intelligent, but also not very funny. In fact: not funny at all. Well, except in photos (check the volume, kids):

Then again, maybe the guy was doing his best Mickey Rooney/Krusty the Clown, Asian Guy impersonation: “She velly funny lady.” Live the stereotype, dude.

Hi, Brain:

Perhaps you remember me? We talk all the time? Sometimes I pay attention to you, sometimes I don’t. A lot of people say I should listen to you more often, but I say that’s dull and boring. Also: it’s the sort of thing that lands people in trouble. Robert Oppenheimer did nothing but listen to his Brain, and look where it got him. Not to mention us. You know: humanity and stuff.

Anyway, I’m not here to talk about that. I’m here to talk about your playlists.

I don’t know if you’ve glanced at my iTunes collection recently, or any of my Pandora streams, but if you have, you might’ve noticed a curious lack of Whitney Houston songs. On closer inspection, however, you’ll see that the absence isn’t curious at all. Her music isn’t there because I hate her.

Really, truly hate her.

I don’t care that Whitney’s had it rough. I don’t care that she’s got a stellar voice. I don’t care that she’s a belter. All I care about is that her music is the music of awful things and awful people (with the exception of Opal Vanderhurst’s drag performance to “I’m Every Woman”, during which she’d drop her top and parade her silicone tits — backalley injections, not surgical implants — around the dining room of Lucky Cheng’s for the benefit of sheltered tourists from Nebraska). Whitney is the music of sorority girls and mixers and forced merriment and people who probably would’ve had a lot to say, if only they weren’t so busy artfully ripping their jeans.

To be fair, “diva” music isn’t my thing. In fact, I find it pretty loathsome. Annie, Aretha, Celine, Mariah: this is the music I dodge like Ebola. And out of all those divas — self-proclaimed and otherwise — Whitney is the Queen. Off with the bitch’s head, I say.

Anyway, if I hear one more chorus of “Saving All My Love For You”, you’re getting a big fat dose of Tylenol PM. Or a lobotomy. Whichever is easier.

You’ve been warned.

xoxoxo
Richard

P.S. In place of Whitney, please substitute calculus. I would like to know calculus now. Thanks.

Brazilian jujitsu doesn’t just look like gay sex, it feels an awful lot like it too. Sam starts on his back with his knees up. He instructs me to sit on his lap, so I straddle him. He tells me to sit right down, putting all my weight on him, so I do. I know right away that I’m going to be in trouble. He looks so sexy lying on the mat under me and I can’t stop thinking about the tiny amount of fabric separating us. The position is called “the mount” for a reason.

— Xtra! via Towleroad

Kindasorta better than either of the originals. But then, I wasn’t a “Thriller” fan. Take it for what it’s worth.

Hi Chip,

This is a letter from the future you. Your name is Justin now -don’t ask, but if you think of a better one feel free to jump on it. Maybe something like “Beverage”. Everyone likes a Beverage and you know how much you enjoy alliteration. Beverage Bond… well, it’s up to you. Just be glad you’re not some old fag named “Chip”!

I was thinking that since we’ve been given this to opportunity to communicate through time I should maybe give you some helpful tips:

First, do me a favor, stay out of the sun. You don’t like the sun anyway so just skip it. All those bitches that keep saying you’re so pale and that you look like a spook are going to end up looking like wrinkled brown paper bags and will probably have lots of chunks missing from their skin -I say fuck ’em. Stick to the shade or stay inside and listen to music, dance around naked and feel free to jack off as much as you like….

–full letter at Justin Bond is Living [probably via Andy, but I forget]

• The boyfriend just conducted an interview with Prospect.2 curator (and total sweetheart) Dan Cameron. If you attended Prospect.1, or if you’re just a fan of contemporary art and/or New Orleans, the read is totally worth your time.

• Would you like some gayness to get you through your weekend encounter with the treadmill/elliptical machine/in-laws? I find Roisin Murphy’s multiple remixes of “You Know Me Better” to be just the thing. The very gay thing, that is.

It’s that time of year again, folks:

HURRICANE CEREMONY XII

What: Public prayer ceremony dedicated to Our Lady of Prompt Succor (who has intervened historically on New Orleans’ behalf when a hurricane has threatened) and Ezili Danto (also associated with Mater Salvatoris and Moumt Carmel) to ask for protection from hurricanes

When: Saturday, July 18th at 7:00 pm

Where: Achade Meadows Peristyle, 3319 Rosalie Alley (off of Rampart, between Piety and Desire)

What to bring in offering:

• For Our Lady: flowers, statues, candles, religious pictures, jewelry

• For Danto: Barbancourt Rum, Clarin, Florida Water, candles, daggers, dolls dressed in red and blue with gold trim or calico prints, spicy black beans, peasant cakes, unfiltered cigarettes, pan fried cornbread with peppers, fried pork, white crème de menthe

What to wear: Please dress in white (the color of purity), with red head scarves, or all red (the color of Petwo rites).

I don’t know that I’ve ever seen videos used to promote a novel before. Sure, I’ve seen TV ads for books–rarely–but viral clips? Whole new world. To me, anyway.

I’m not sure Tomas is the sort of thing I’ll read, but the images are nice:

—Tomas (website) and Tomas (book) via Creative Review