Wrapped Up Like A Douche

It’s Thursday and I haven’t had any insights lately (having been busy fielding requests to record DVD commentary for the video I made with Ms. Hilton), so it’s once again time for...

WULAD Web Wround-Up
Firstly, Neal Pollack, the Internet’s patron saint of feigned (feigned) megalomania, is hanging up his blog cleats to waste time on things like writing books, following current events, and raising a family. What a wuss. Pay tribute to the years he devoted to his self-aggrandizing brand of neo-literary patriotism and neo-patriotic brand of self-literary aggrandizement by buying his book or endlessly, obsessively browsing his archives. Hey, more readers for me, homeslice.

Excuse me miss, would you like to join me for a nice, hot cup of crippling disease and conversation?

You probably won’t be surprised to learn that WULAD doesn’t really believe in Hell—but if it did, and were a betting blog, it would expect this “Reverend” Phelps guy to get some prime real estate next to Adolf, Joe McCarthy and the scalding-hot La-Z-Boy they’re saving for Osama Bin Laden (and the winged monkey-demon with Michael Bolton’s face that will sit perpetually on his shoulder, singing “When a Man Loves a Woman” for all eternity). You know there’s a problem when none other than Jerry Falwell accuses you of being a little over the top with the gay-hating.

Speaking of which, First (and probably smarter) Brother Jeb Bush said yesterday while looking at an environmental map of the U.S. that the people of San Francisco may be endangered, and “that’s probably a good thing for the country.” Mayor Willie has been his usual cordially condescending (or is it condescendingly cordial?) self about it and suggested it was a good joke; but I personally believe I speak for every other citizen of San Francisco when I say: Go fuck yourself, Jeb!

Finally, back on the bright side: though it’s a little early for the winter wonderland stuff (and someone needs to inform the Rite-Aid music programmers of this fact, perhaps even violently), here are some nice shots a sister-in-bloggery took of Brooklyn’s Prospect Park with a dusting of snow. To adopt the popular vernacular, they make me all nostalgic n’ shit, since many were the days a young WULAD would stroll the park's wooded paths, communing with nature and counting the long months it had been since last I saw a woman naked. Mmmm… speaking of Brooklyn, I could go for a sausage egg n’ cheese bagel, some light snow, and maybe a hot cup of java from the Café de Cancer right about now...