I'm bigger, I'm faster, and I will always beat you.

Few things make me smile more than winning this contest: The Gilded Moose

I'm so happy, one might think I started my day by pushing Ashley Judd down a flight of stairs.

Round 2

The next surgery is set! I'm being shot full of sclero fluid on 6/28 and then getting sliced and diced on 6/29. I had hoped it would be a bit sooner. For starters, I'm going to miss the cutover of the gigantic project I've been working on at the office for months, and my boss is going to be really pissed off at me. Even worse, I MAY HAVE TO MISS THE FIESTAWARE COLLECTOR'S CONFERENCE!

If you've seen my perspective, give me a call, as I seem to have lost it.

If I weren't gay before...

I most certainly am now. On the other hand, that has to be a great way to cover up stretch marks.

Sweepstakes Winner Only Mildly Disappointed

Marcia Rubenstein of Weehawken, NJ says, "When they told me I'd won solid gold, I didn't think they meant the dancers."

Muthas Against Judging Drunk

Paula Abdul is such a hot mess I can't even believe she was allowed to go on the air. I would recommend breatholyzing her, except it would make American Idol so much less interesting. A few brief notes:

1) The background noise in the studio must have been overwhelming to the judges because I thought McPhee was Phabulous!
2) Elliot was the best he's ever been. Not worth Paula breaking down like her grandma died, but good nonetheless.
3) If Kellie Pickler makes it past this week, I am going to start lobbying for an IQ test prior to having a phone installed.
4) I like Paris more every week, and forgot for her entire number that she is an Oompa Loompa with a deep tan.
5) Corky looked fantastic and sounded awful. Evidently he has to act a fool in order to sing well.
6) Aww damn, Chris continues to match his fantastic voice to the shittiest songs ever written. Why does someone with so much talent have so little taste? Oh wait, is that a good version of an excruciating Bryan Adams song? IT IS! If he can make that piece of garbage sound that good, just cancel the rest of the contest and crown Daddy Chris immediately!

My prediction: I want to say Pickler goes home tomorrow, but I think she might get to coast on her dubious charm for another week. Elliot would go no matter how good he is except that he made people actually cry. Thus, I do believe we're saying goodbye to spastic Taylor tomorrow night. I also think tonight that the judges said goodbye to their final shred of dignity as they sniped like they're starring in "Mean Girls 2", but that is another story.

FYI, if you want to see some genius television programming, you must watch "So NoTORIous" on VH1. Who knew Tori Spelling could be entertaining? This show is a scripted sitcom that plays like a reality show since Tori plays herself (sort of like Kirsty Alley's "Fat Actress"), and it is probably the funniest thing I've seen in the last year. They should give her an Emmy just for using the line, "I don't have to be relevant! I'm Tori Spelling!"

Natalie is a poseur

Natalie Portman shaved her head for a part in a movie, a part for which she was likely paid more than most people make in 20 years time, and yet everyone acted like she was oh so brave, like she had saved a bunch of drowning orphans by wading through a swamp of aligators and nuclear waste. Big deal. Check out the hair international pop superstar, my beloved Kylie Minogue, is sporting out on the town in New York this week.

Kylie has this hair not because she was paid to have it, but because she is busy kicking breast cancer's ass. And she's still prettier than you, Natalie!

Welcome back, Kylie, we've missed you!

Read Her Lips

My wife Holly informed me that Star Jones announced today on "The View" that she spent the weekend getting her first Brazilian bikini wax. Naturally, I have a few things to say about this.

1. Making it MORE visible isn't going to make Big Gay Al any more likely to hit that.
2. Of course it is her first. Could she even find it up until a month ago?
3. At what point does Joy Behar stop simply making biting remarks to Star and start busting her in the chops like the hard-ass Brooklyn gal she is? Because that is an episode I need to record.

Well-hung

For those of you who might agree with the xenophobic Republicans in Congress who want to build a 700-foot wall at the Mexican border, I respectfully say BITE ME. I have been stood up twice in the past two weeks by drywallers, and would give my right nut for some reasonably-priced hardworking manual laborers, and I don't really give a damn if they speak Swahili and eat live chickens while they're doing it so long as I have nicely-finished walls.

Anyway, as you can tell, I'm more than a little bitter to the point that I have started hanging the stuff myself again in the living room. Sadly, I only got one wall finished today...in 6.5 hours. I will admit to loving any excuse to wear my toolbelt, and I suspect one has not been worn with a Cher t-shirt since the heyday of the construction worker from The Village People. At any rate, two walls and the ceiling down, two to go, plus all the dining room. And the finishing. And the painting, and the trim, and the sanding and refinishing the floors. Being butch really sucks.


In other news, Whitney and Sly had some sort of coke explosion that I had to clean up on top of all the drywalling mess. I am seriously considering military school for them both.

Federlining

This is the first in an occasional series of posts, or lessons if you will, on things that sound perfectly reasonable coming from an African-American, and yet when coming from a white person, makes the speaker sound like Mr. Cunningham trying to speak the cool lingo to Richie, Joanie, and The Fonz. Delivering one of these lines is now known as Federlining, in honor of Britney Spears' often cornrow-bedecked hubby who nonetheless is still as lilywhite as the trash from whence he came. Without further ado, here is today's incident of Federlining, as heard from one of the neighborhood urchins:

"Oh, turn it up! That's my jam!"


No honky, no.

Does this fur make me look like a jacked-up crackhead?

Whitney kept trying to sneak out of the house for candy bars and drugs (because she hasn't figured out that she probably only needs to sneak next door to Crazy Neighbor's for her pharmaceutical needs), so I had to take her fur. I have to admit, I did get a kick out of wearing it to Whole Foods to shop for vegetarian groceries. Thank god they don't sell organic paint there.

I'm With Stupid

If you love pure and perfect pop music, you must must must go to The Official Pet Shop Boys site to listen to the upcoming single "I'm With Stupid". I know what you're thinking, "They're still around?!" They are indeed and are still doing good music. The new single, officially out next month, is a scathing and exceedingly witty indictment of Tony Blair and George W. (or as he will heretofore be referred to on Trading Faces, Satan's Lapdog) set to bright and perky electronic melodies. It is absolute genius. The new CD is supposed to be their best since Very, way back around the early 90s.

Speaking of stupid, that is how I'm going to look this afternoon as I head out to the backyard wearing my new Monica Lewinsky kneepads (I had to buy new ones...I wore the others out!) to work in my herb garden. And yes, I mean cooking herbs, not the naughty kind you devil people smoke (and yes Rhoda and 'Chele, I'm talkin' 'bout you!).

The Parent Trap

Parenthood is far from easy as I'm learning since I adopted Whitney Houston last week. I went away for one night to visit my doctor in New York, and in that short time, Whitney tied Craig up, invited some of her peeps over, and had a party. She left my house full of crack smoke and absolutely pimp-infested. Have you ever priced having exterminators to get rid of a particularly vicious infestation of pimps? It isn't cheap, let me tell you, and every penny of it is coming out of her allowance.

She even got one of the kitties high, and didn't even have the decency to wipe the residue from his nose!

A minor setback

Medical stuff ahead...if you're looking for the funny, you might want to skip this post (although I will say, Rod Stewart just so totally hit on Kellie Hickler on Idol, and I would soooo much rather discuss that).

So Monday morning, I got myself on a plane at the buttcrack of dawn, and after a layover in Detroit where I took a moment to do a little "Ain't No Mountain High Enough" in honor of Miss Ross's birthplace, I landed in NYC for my first follow-up visit since The Surgery on January 25. I've mentioned I'm pretty upset because they said they hit everything and yet I've still got the puffy cheek. This trip was about getting some answers and planning for the next slice-n-dice.

After a hellish SuperShuttle ride to the Upper West Side and a two-hour wait in the lobby, I got in to see Dr. Waner and his dreamy intern, Dr. Hot Guy With the Salt-and-Pepper at His Temples. They are pleased with my progress, which I find rather amazing. Remember way back when I said that around my mouth, there was some small amount of the tumor they didn't get, but that was injected with the sclero solution, so doc thought it would dissolve? Yeah, well it didn't. No biggie, they can easily remove it during the next surgery, only I just thought it was all going to be gone after the last one so that all I would have left is the touch-up. The bottom line is, some of what I have left is in fact swelling, and some is this left-over stuff that is giving me some weird shape and will get taken care of next time. Here's some illustration:

This is before:


This is now:


Some improvement, certainly, but not where it is supposed to be. This is what is going on:

The circled area is what is some swelling that is leftover. I know it is swelling because there was nothing in my neck at all, and you can see that is swollen. What is left here should go down over the next couple of weeks.


This is where I've still got stuff (and the picture doesn't show it all that well). Next surgery, they will remove that, lift up my mouth, work on my wonky-looking eye, and I hope give me some hair plugs (because hope does spring eternal).

Right now, I'm a mix of disappointment that it isn't gone and relief that I know what is wrong and how to fix it. Oh, and I had a fabulous evening after my appointment, staying with my lovely friend Miss MarySusan and her husband before traveling back to Kentucky yesterday. I am also slightly disappointed in myself because I may have brought this on myself via bad karma. I'll explain that in a later post, but let me preview it by saying it involves drag queens, disco music, and showing up my ex-bf. Phooey.

True Confessions

I haven't posted much in the way of my surgical saga lately, mainly out of frustration. I'm headed up to NYC on Monday for a checkup with my doctor, and maybe he can tell me why my progress is so massively slower than what he said it would be. I'm ridden with anxiety over this trip, so I have decided to think of it as a 2-day vacation where I get to stay with my college friend Miss MarySusan.

Anyway, in the interest of sticking to the confessional nature of this blog's original purpose, I bare my soul to you by presenting you with the iTunes "most played" playlist from my computer.






I have never felt such shame in all my days.

Mama, just killed a song

I tend to go on a bit on my American Idol wrap-ups, so this week, I'm going to give you the low-down in one word for each person.

Ryan: Faggoty-assed
Bucky: Atrocious
Ace: Ridiculous
Kellie: Nauseating
Chris: Sigh! (but Simon was totally right on...he really can’t pick a song to save his life)
Camryn Manheim: Unemployed
Katherine’s mom: Milf
Katherine: I do have to comment on this one. She was pretty good, and she looked stunning. But I am quite hesitant to vote for her for the simple fact that she would clearly love nothing more than to be Celine Dion. It is bad enough that we let the original into the country. Do we have to produce one of our own? Isn't George Bush enough to inflict upon the world?
Paula: Buzzed, but not in the bag yet.
Elliot: Good, but should have been better. That arrangement needed work. He should have blown that song out of the water.
Taylor: Spastic. You know he had to wear a crash helmet as a child.
Paris: WOW!!!!! You know she did an incredible job because you only noticed that bad wig for the first 15 seconds. Of course, as soon as she stops singing, you can’t help but wonder if Jerry Springer ever did a show about midget transsexuals.

Well, I made it 20 minutes in on my attempt at brevity, not bad for me. And since I've given up on being short and sweet, I should point out that maybe Kellie really is stupid. She’d have to be in order to think she could pull off "Bohemian Rhapsody". Hey Kellie, if you just killed one man, would you please come over here, kill me, and put me out of my misery?

Wanted: Dead or Alive (but preferably dead)

If any of my tens of loyal readers sees musician James Blunt, I ask you to do me a favor and hit him in the face with a shovel until he swears never to sing "You're Beautiful" or any other song ever again. He is Dave Matthews Lite, and let's face it, Dave Matthews was the Donnie Osmond of the 90s. James Blunt sings the sort of faux-sensitive songs that frat boys use to get into girls' pants before resorting to Rohypnol. Really, don't you all think I have been through enough this year with all the surgery without having to hear this garbage?

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm late for my anger management class.

Congratulations! It's a crack whore!

We at Trading Faces are pleased to announce the arrival of our bouncing-off-the-walls baby girl, Whitney Houston. That's right, Whitney, we have officially adopted you, and you should consider this notice that your ass is soooooo grounded. You are to come home this instant, march yourself up to your room, and you're gonna stay there until I tell you to come out. No cell phone, no boys (especially that Brown kid...I don't trust him, and he is always breaking curfew), no lesbians, no sex toys, no mono-browed daughters, and no crack! That's right, no crack, meth, or coke. I'm not even letting you near the pantry where I keep the flour, missy. You're going to learn that in this family, we don't tolerate appearing on the cover of tabloids unless you're doing it for a sex scandal like that nice Clay Aiken boy. And by the way, when I asked you to call me Mommie Dearest, I wanted you to mean it.

Thank you to the kind-hearted and concerned citizens at Adopt-a-Celeb for helping us to achieve our dream of parenthood with our very own special needs girl.

Change Your Image With Spray-on Tan!

A spokesperson for Mystic Tan released the following statement today: "Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen are in no way employed by or connected to Mystic Tan or its subsidiary corporations, and their public appearances involving the abuse of our product in no way constitutes an endorsement of said product."

Mandisa sleeps with the fishes

Don't screw with the Gay Mafia when it comes to American Idol, Mandisa. We will take you down.

In other Idol news, Bucky was so totally lipsyncing along with Mandisa to "Any Man of Mine."

Plastics Make It Possible

Seriously, someone needs to smack Kenny Rogers with a rolled up newspaper like a dog that piddled on the new sofa, and ask him, "What have you done, Kenny? Bad Kenny! Bad Kenny!" I know he's The Gambler and all, but why would he bet his face on a cosmetic surgeon in Guadelejara?

Anderson Cooper Weekly Update

My secret boyfriend, CNN newshunk Anderson Cooper, is so desperate to stay closeted that he has resorted to hanging out with the gayest people he can find in an effort to look more butch by comparison. So help me, if Carson Kressley even THINKS of touching him, I will drag his ass to a state without a hate crime statute and gay bash him myself. On the up side, it seems that perhaps Andy might actually like sissy boys who are a bit odd. I would be totally normal by comparison, and I wouldn't even ask to try on the Gloria Vanderbilt jeans his mom designed in the 80s.

Hips Lied; Shakira Reported to Be "Deeply Disappointed"

Supermodels start all the good trends

Now I have a great deal of respect for the work of U.S. Congresswoman Cynthia McKinney. And I don't think it is the place of a bunch of rich old white congressmen to comment on racial profiling. That said, don't you think the Capital Building cops might have been nicer to Ms. McKinney, preventing her from allegedly having to smack one of them, if she looked a little more like this...

and a little less like...


I mean, really darlin', we think you're smart and brave, but you have to run a brush through your hair if you don't want your constituents to think you're a big ball of crazy.

But Angelina can't adopt them all!

Seriously, could this evil sumbitch be any less aware of global intricacies? I don't think nations where they routinely perform clitorectomies are places where women get a lot of choice on abstinence. No joke here, I just hate him. Somebody please buy him the audiocassette version of National Geographic before he gets us all blown to Hell!

Twang? Isn't that what astronauts drink?

Last week’s American Idol was so bad that I couldn’t be bothered to blog about it, to the disappointment of tens of people. Oh my but have they made it up to me this week. The celebrity helper is Kenny Rogers, and he’s virtually unidentifiable! He has had so much surgery he must be able to pee out of his chin and has to shave behind his ears. In short, I do believe he will be the new face of Trading Faces.

Our pointless theme this week is country, or Let’s Make Sure Kellie Makes It Through One More Week. Next week, in order to annoy me, I hear they're doing John Couger Menstrualcramp week.

Taylor Hicks claps for himself, proving again that he is just a little bit retarded. Paula, for once, was not, and criticized him, surprising him so much he looked as though he were about to cry. But I suppose Taylor crying AND Kenny Rubberface is too much to ask for in a single week.

God can save you from any lifestyle, Mandisa, but can he save you from a really boring performance. Clearly not. I hope her comments last week about “lifestyle” (a.k.a. radical right wing code for homo) were not directed the way I think they may have been. Without the gays, big girls with big voices end up working at call centers, a point Mandisa would be wise to learn.

Ryan, Paula, and Simon are really reminding me of the final few episodes of the Sonny and Cher song when they had broken up but the public had not been clued in yet. Randy in that case is the public. I wonder which of them will get custody of him when the divorce finally happens.

Elliot is good, as usual, but I’m starting to see a trend. No one looks like they are going to pick a song older than 10 years old, and let’s face it, the best country music is that old big-haired bedazzled suit my trailer burned down and my dog left me shit. With this attitude toward old country, is it any wonder Kenny has had so much work he looks like he stuck his face in his chicken roaster?

Ryan is now asking Paris about her hairdo. Somehow that seems right…he has to know no one bought his fake makeout session with Skeletor Hatcher last weekend. Oh yeah, and Paris was good on a song that isn’t very country, and drag queens all over the country will be downloading it tomorrow. Also, Paula didn’t like it and got booed, which would be less surprising if Paula were performing herself.

Remember that episode of “South Park” where John Stamos’s brother sang “Loving You Is Easy ‘Cause You’re Beautiful”? Yeah, Ace totally voiced that one. Paula still wants to show him her bacon flaps, though.

“To hear Kellie sing ‘Fancy’ is perfect because that’s what she’s all about.” Kellie, I think Kenny just called you a whore. It has nothing to do with that top, though. I’d comment on the vocal except that complimenting Kellie on singing country is a bit like complimenting Pam Anderson on her oral sex skills.

If I vote for him enough times, Chris Daughtry will realize he love me. Also, if he wins, having a bit less hair will become really sexy. I win both ways. Go Chris, go!

Wow, Katherine McPhee wants to be something other than Karen Carpenter with a cheeseburger! And here I thought I had gotten rid of this case of McPheever!

I love it when the contestants want to get all sensitive during a song and sit down on the stage. Bucky almost forgot he had rehearsed that move, and you could almost see the lightbulb going off over his head when he turned quickly and sat down for the quiet finish to his song. Good save, Bucky!

I’m not sure if this is my prejudice against the country bumpkins with whom I grew up, but I am absolutely convinced Bucky, and to a lesser extent Kellie, are out of their league. It is time for Bucky to go home, bartend, and host a weekly karaoke night at the Booze and Cruise.