The Wife and I headed over to the Gay Pride parade this last weekend and it was pretty awesome. We were only able to stay for half of it as we had to work, but we were there long enough to see lots of boys and very few shirts. Let's just say The Wife had a field day.

And, actually, it all seemed pretty innocent. That is, until I woke up the next day and a series of suspicious events began to unfold.

I take a shower, seeing as how today is a Monday and all, and my very manly Edge shaving gel has run out. I'm faced with two questionable choices: go fuzzy-faced or use The Wife's girly gel. Well, I grow pretty terrible facial hair, so it was definitely time to shave. Really, the choice was not a choice at all and so I lathered up with some pink stuff.

Ah, nice and smooth again. Let the morning ritual continue.

I stepped out of the shower, toweled off, and went to deoderize my self when...Great Scott! My deoderant had run out. My manly Degree Ultra Testoterone-laced deoderant that is so key to my trademark scent. What to do!? My eyes dart over to The Wife's Secret.

No.

But it's strong enough for a man...

But it's made for a woman...

This is when it stuck me. This was too much of a coincidence. For someone as butch as I to have to comtemplate using girl products...this just doesn't happen. And now that I think about it, there was that one flag guy in the Lakeview Gay Marching Band who seemed to give me an extra long glance. Almost...sizing me up. I'd heard that the gays want to convert all the hetros, but I never really believed it. I mean, we all have heard of the homosexual adgenda, but I thought it was a myth. Now...I wonder. Was there a homosexual invasion of my fortress of hetrocity last night? Have I been violated with Raspberry scented gels and Shower Fresh deoderant?

I may never fully know the truth, but there is one thing I know for sure.

I smell fabulous!

Man wins $400K for 10-year implant malfunction

He was, um, "at attention" for over ten years and this turned out to be a rather embarassing situation.

In other words, he got to relive age 12 for the past 10 years, albeit without the risk of being called to the chalkboard to solve math problems.

Sort of Groundhog Day in Hell.

Go someplace different this July Fourth

Well, I'm heading to England. I want to see how the losers celebrate.

USA!

USA!

USA!

Smooth move: Raiders' Moss opens his juice bar

Am I the only one who's shocked to not see Bonds's name attached to this headline?

(although I suppose Palmerio's name could have just as easily been attached to the first headline)

Salmonella chocolate still on shelves

I'm not one to judge, but they should really consider a different name...

Vincent

A Vincent will never throw a baseball with anywhere near the same flourish that he does a 20-sided die. Why? Well, mostly because you should never throw a baseball with a flourish. It just isn't done. Also because Vincent is about 99.978% poet. The rest? Filler.

No baseball.

Vincent has the most magnificently long girl hair. Honestly, it's transcendent. It hangs down his back, well past his bra-strap, and there's not a split end to be found. And, at the very end, the hair is bound with...a scrunchie. Now, mind you, this isn't a ponytail proper. Ponytails can actually be okay. Hell, there are plenty of Hell's Angels sporting very respectable ponytails (although they rather than using a scrunchie to maintain their ponytail, they simply use the flesh of the innocent). No, the hair still has that lustrous, flowing look; it is just kept a bit more manageable with this...scrunchie.

Vincent is just so sensitive, barely ever speaking above a whisper whilst nibbling on his carrot sticks. His pale, delicate features bear an expression that could only be described as "wistful." Why the wistful look? Most likely because he still holds onto hopes that he will be visited by Dumbledore and whisked off to Hogwarts like in the paperback edition of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix that he carries along with him. Vincent? You're pushing 30. If an owl was going to bring you a letter with the Hogwarts seal stamped on it, it would likely have come back when you were getting beat up and really could have used it.

No, Vincent will never be my son. There's a reason that the sensitive, misunderstood lion-thing in Beauty and the Beast was named 'Vincent'. That was the only way that we would know that behind that hideous visage lay (lie? lied?) the heart of a poet. If my son is going to fulfill my dreams, he has to be a lot more Mickey Mantle, and a lot less lion-living-in-a-sewer.

So, Vincent, enjoy your renaissance festival and wear your tights proudly. Just know that you will never share a name with my son.

Apologies to any Vincents reading this (now go cut your damn hair)

Okay, I'm still working on a way to use this site for quasi-humorous purposes without taxing my time to too great an extent. My initial idea is to play around with headlines to see if this sparks some creativity. Given that all of 12 people, probably 11 of whom are stopping by completely randomly, are reading this, the pressure to be funny is pretty low. So bear with me as I try to regain a warped perspective on things.

Donor to the 2004 Edwards campaign has been fined.

Okay, I get that the Democratic party isn't at it's best right now. We've (and I use "we" fairly loosely as I have contributed exactly nothing to the political arena, going so far as to quickly shoo away the nice young lady who buzzed my apartment begging for a contribution to the DNC. It's so sad to see them beg, but also a little funny. Alright, mostly funny) been beaten down a bit, true, but I hardly think it's fair to start fining people for contributing to the party. Isn't it bad enough that they already threw their money away without having to pay another fine?

Canada raises age of consent from 14 to 16

14? Really? How very Elizabethan of them. I realize that they genuflect to the Queen Mum up north but I guess I was just confused as to which one they followed.

Soldiers' brutal deaths confirmed to families

Geez, we appreciate the effort, but do they have to use the word "brutal." Here's a bit of advice: when you have to deliver bad news, soften it up a bit.

Rising gas prices fire up bloggers

The bloggers are fired up? I'm not laughing. Really, I'm not.

Why does the term "tilting at windmills" come to mind?

Nude resorts take off gloves in fight for customers

They were wearing gloves?

To this I say: worst. nude beach. ever.