Say what you like about National Socialism, Dude, at least it's an ethos

John Goodman, the bearish and beloved character actor whose many fine performances have illuminated both big screen and small, has taken a respite from his guest starring role on the hit NBC show Community in order to inform the Negroes that they have a Negro Problem, and then to solve it for them in 22 minutes, with time out for station identification and commercials for Godfathers Pizza.

But wait, this isn't the John Goodman who delighted audiences with his madcap antics on the long running sitcom Roseanne.  This John Goodman is a doctor, by which I mean he has a Ph.D in Milking the Teats of Dyspeptic Billionaires, and serves as president of the National Center for Policy Analysis, "a free-market think tank" which subsists on hand-outs from the Koch Brothers.

He's also smarter than the average bearish actor, because his official think tank bio shyly reveals that Dr. Goodman was Student Body Vice President, and "is a crossword puzzle aficionado, and most days he is able to conquer the puzzles in The New York Times in ink."

"I'll show you the life of the mind...!"

So rather than our usual -- and frankly, impertinent -- habit of snarking at the subsidized opinions of right wing rent-a-scholars, today we will fold our hands in our laps and listen attentively, because it seems that while black people will be black people, Dr. Goodman's unique perspective -- as a man who was not only a heartbeat away from the Student Council presidency, but who is now only a single initial away from being a celebrated character actor -- allows him to see and pinpoint exactly how they're doing it wrong.

USA Today Columnist DeWayne Wickham took presidential candidate Herman Cain to task the other day on the issue of race. His complaints: (a) Cain is vying for white votes rather than black votes, (b) Cain’s claim that blacks tend to mindlessly vote for Democrats is insulting and insensitive and (c) Cain is insufficiently critical of Republicans for pursing a racist southern strategy over the past 40 years.

Now since Cain and Wickham are both black, I’m sure that most non-black columnists will choose to sit this one out and let it be just an intramural squabble.

But this is one columnist who's willing to take up the Non-Black Man's Burden.

I think that’s wrong. All Americans, regardless of color, should find Wickham’s comments offensive for two reasons.

First, it takes a lot of chutzpah for a pro-Democratic writer to criticize a Republican for being insufficiently critical of his own party on matters of race. For all its sins, I don’t believe the party of Lincoln has anything to apologize for to the party of slavery, the party of segregation, the party of Jim Crow and a party that even today routinely uses the NAACP to run election eve, race-baiting radio commercials in order to fan the flames of racial hatred and get out the black vote.

Here's where the sort of free market perspective in which Dr. Goodman specializes proves so illuminating.  The party of Nixon, of the Southern Strategy, of Reagan's "states rights" speech in Philadelphia, Mississippi, of a DOJ Civil Rights Department focused on "voter fraud," is trying to make voting more difficult only because that would make voting more special.  And the rarer a thing is, the more valuable is.  Scarcity creates demand, and by allowing fewer people to vote, more people would want to vote, thereby increasing the perceived value of the ballot for those who can cast one.  It's like the difference between common and preferred shares of stock.

Or to put it another way:  making voting an easy, casual thing would encourage people to vote promiscuously, and some day you'll would look back and regret it, feeling that you cheapened your franchise by casting ballots only because you were drunk, or gave in to peer pressure.  And then suddenly you meet that special someone, perhaps when your Hoverounds collide at a Tea Party rally and comically lock bumpers, and one thing leads to another, and before you know it, you're sitting in a Denny's at 4:00 in the afternoon, exchanging life stories over a slice of coconut meringue pie and a cup of Sanka, and you'll look across that table and see his face fall when you confess how many times you voted, and for how many different candidates. 

Because the problem is, Americans of the black persuasion don't value voting, otherwise they wouldn't require race-baiting radio commercials to get them to the polls.  Naturally, this principle applies to all radio advertising, which is why I consider the commercials for Sit 'N' Sleep, a local discount mattress chain, to be the moral equivalent of The Turner Diaries.

But more is involved here than misplaced chutzpah. Wickham is simply wrong about the two parties’ roles in modern politics. I know. I was there. I grew up in Waco, Texas, in the 1950s and early 1960s. At that time, virtually all the elected officials in Waco were (a) racist, (b) segregationist and (c) Democrats.

Now they're only two out of three.

Whether mindlessly or not, the black voters in my city did tend to vote for the entire Democratic ticket in election after election.

I don't want to accuse Dr. Goodman of "tolerance," because I know where he comes that's regarded as little more than a liberal euphemism for "pussy," but I do think it's nice of him to give his black neighbors the benefit of the doubt and allow as how they might have minds, albeit stupid ones.

"You vote for a Democrat for President just because he's black, but you never stopped to think that John C. Calhoun was also a Democrat before he died a 160 years ago?!  You see? You see? Your stupid minds! Stupid! Stupid!"

As in many places today, the black church was the principal institution through which the party organized the black vote. Think about the incongruity of that. Racist politicians and black Baptist ministers delivered votes in election after election to candidates who did little or nothing to help blacks and who went around assuring whites of their dedication to segregation!

I don't want to commit a brazen act of intellectual lése-majesté, Doctor, but I don't think civil rights activists risked prison, injury, or death just to secure the right of Black people to vote for White supremacists.  I suspect that the Southern Democrats who did attract support in Black communities were the ones who weren't bigots -- in other words, the ones who didn't become Republicans after Goldwater -- if only because it doesn't make a lot of sense that segregationist Democrats would work so hard to preserve Jim Crow, just to keep black folks from voting for them.

How did the national Democratic Party respond to their Southern comrades? They welcomed them at the national Democratic conventions with open arms. By “they” I mean the Kennedys, the Byrds, the Gores and other mainstays of the Democratic Party. Further, a lot of people are unaware of the fact that the 1964 Civil Rights Act received more Republican than Democratic votes in Congress.

I share the Doctor's outrage.  Personally, I find it shocking how many people in this country remain ignorant of the basic made-up facts about our own history.  True, government schools and liberal textbooks go out of their way to suppress untruths like this, and people who actually lived through the Civil Rights Era (many of whom now spend their days sucking vampirically from the Socialist Security Trust Fund like it was some kind of blood money bank) may offer argumentative "memories" about how "things" actually "were," but still, there is no excuse in the age of Fox News and AM radio for anyone with half a brain to remain uninformed about bullshit of such historic significance.

But just for the record:  In the House, Democrats voted for the Civil Rights Act 153-91 (63%–37%), while Republicans voted 136-35 (80%–20%), so while a higher percentage of the fewer Republicans in the house voted yea, it's not true that the bill"received more Republican than Democratic votes."

Now a lot of Southern Democrats switched parties and became Republicans through the years. Sen. Strom Thurmond of South Carolina is an example. But the behavior of these politicians as Republicans differed markedly from their behavior as Democrats. The difference was not merely a difference of degree. It was a difference of kind.

Yes, they began acting more like the existing Southern Republicans, as we see from the regional breakdown of the vote tallies of the 1964 Civil Rights Act:

By party and region

Note: "Southern", as used in this section, refers to members of Congress from the eleven states that made up the Confederate States of America ... "Northern" refers to members from the other 39 states, regardless of the geographic location of those states.

• Southern Democrats: 7–87   (7%–93%)

• Southern Republicans: 0–10   (0%–100%)

• Northern Democrats: 145-9   (94%–6%)

• Northern Republicans: 138-24   (85%–15%)

The Senate version:

• Southern Democrats: 1–20   (5%–95%)

• Southern Republicans: 0–1   (0%–100%)

• Northern Democrats: 45-1   (98%–2%)

• Northern Republicans: 27-5   (84%–16%)

So the Republicans who voted for the CRA were the kind of Northeastern RINOs and country club elitists the bulk (which is to say, the Southern faction) of the current Republican party hates.

Dr. Goodman then dares us to find "a single Republican candidate openly endorsing racial segregation."  He then mumbles an aside about David Duke, hastily adding that he doesn't count, nor do all the Dixiecrats who joined the Republican party after 1964.

Most Americans today are anxious to put party aside and race too, for that matter.

Except for Eros, who still can't believe that a group of people could actually be so swayed by media propaganda that they would vote against their own economic interests.  He'll be appearing on Fox & Friends Tuesday morning to discuss the matter.

What we should want to know from Herman Cain is what he wants to do for the future, not what he thinks about politics of the past. 

 And especially not what he thinks about certain large rocks that may, in the past, have sat beside the entrance to a hunting ranch which was, many years ago, leased by Rick Perry's family, and which was previously, at some point in the forgotten mists of yesteryear, emblazoned with a word which was, in the past, commonly used to describe the heads of people who were stupid enough to vote Democratic had they actually been allowed to vote.  Nobody cares about excavating all that ancient history, Herman.  We're not frigging archaeologists over here, man.

And on that score, Herman Cain looks really good — especially if you are black and out of work. Cain’s 9-9-9 plan (9% personal income tax, 9% corporate income tax and 9% sales tax) would do much more to get the economy moving than anything being proposed by the Obama administration.

 People who are better educated than I have pointed out that this sounds less like a cogent economic policy and more like a Meal Deal, so I'll just say this: what little I've seen of Cain's plan suggests that it's not the bread that's crazy.

Random Scenes of Hollywood

Sunset Boulevard and Ivar.

If You Can't Get a Taxi, You Can Leave in a Huff

By Keith, Our Senior "Rolling to Save the Republic" Correspondent:

Hello again. Thanks to Scott's insistence I've learned to point my browser at "Townhall.com" without feeling afterwards like those poor puppies in the 'learned helplessness' paradigm of the 60s. Scott, it did take a few weeks but now I'm not as fearful. After a few cocktails and with thumb securely inserted where the sun don't shine, this stuff writes itself. Truly, Scott, thank you so much.  [I think there might be just a hint of irony in this dedication, but it's the Internet, so it's impossible to tell--ed.]

Here, and perhaps for the first time on WOC is Crista Huff. Let's introduce her:

"I am a conservative, which means that I believe in fiscal responsibility, free markets, personal responsibility and the Constitution."

Before I attempt to gauge Crista's other beliefs (eugenics or mandatory drug-testing of the demonically-possed) let's give her requisite airtime.

When the voting choices are between a Democrat and a Republican, the choice is easy.

I vote Republican because that gives me better odds that my candidate will be fiscally responsible and loyal to the Republic.

I don’t even know what a fiscally conservative Democrat looks like.

Well, Crista, it might have looked something like Daniel Patrick Moynihan. Or Bill Clinton. But that's so 90s, don't you think?

They think that it’s okay to kill babies without restraint, raise taxes and grow government. I don’t know why they call themselves Republicans, because their philosophies do not even remotely mirror the Republican Party platform.

But I trust, like me, they want to save the Republic.

Crista, I'm confused. Do we have to first restrain the babies before we kill them? Blood-lust gun-toter am I, and we likes to kill 'em "free-range." They taste less gamey.

As a citizen activist and a voter, I see it as the only job right now is for everyone to help save the Republic from socialism and fiscal destruction, which by the way, always go hand-in-hand.

Are you implying that "Citizen Activist" and "voter," or socialism and fiscial destruction, both "join hands? I'm performing 'five-knuckle shuffle' reading your column but that's only one hand so doesn't count.

That’s why I want a presidential candidate who has no history of cozying up to terrorists; nor do I want a candidate friendly with religions and countries which do not denounce terrorists; or who allow illegal immigrants to come here; or those that support socialist policies.

I understand, Ms. Huff. The last time we had presidential material cozying up to terrorists was when the Bushes, Hussains and Bin-Ladens experienced a mix-up in tee-off times at a golf date in swanky Saudi Arabia. Regrettable but true.

For me that means I must omit Chris Christie, Ron Paul, Rick Perry and Mitt Romney from receiving my support. That’s the way I roll, to save the Republic.

[Insert appropriate patriotic gang sign here.   Nothing too ghetto, keep it Founding Fathery.  Maybe a quick 3-finger Eastside, followed by the Masonic "Sign of Praise" or "Sublime Knights Elected."--ed.]

Ms. C take note: none of these candidates can play golf worth shit. And they look funny trying. But are they conniving with terrorists?

I’m wary of supporting ANYONE hyped by the MSM, because they think their job is to promote the biggest RINO among the field.

No doubt, the MSM wants a Democrat to win. And just as they promoted John McCain, to the shock and horror of my fellow conservatives, they will again promote somebody whose policies bear no resemblance to conservative policies.

Crista, what exactly about Sen. McCain sent you into a state of shock and horror? Was it possibly his managers' choice of running-mate?

And then they will refer to that person as a “conservative,” which really galls me, because the public is unfortunately gullible enough to believe that somebody is conservative simply because the MSM says so.

I understand your concern, Christa. I would suspect the MSM as well, but I get them confused with MTM, which if you remember gave us all those wonderful Saturday nights at home enjoying Mary and Rhoda and Ted back in the day.

The MSM will keep its distance from or attack any truly conservative candidate who can stand firmly on their record, because the true conservative stands a much, much better chance of winning a presidential election than a RINO.

That’s why I want to see Sarah Palin run.

Be careful what you wish for...

Sarah Palin’s record in Alaska shows her to be the bravest, most effective executive I’ve ever seen. She accomplished incredible feats as Governor and united Democrats and Republicans in order to succeed with projects which brought great prosperity to her state.

Ok, I will agree with you here. Sarah bravely featured bear-baiting on her extravagana "Discovery" TV franchise. Hell, she brought in a production team from Fox Cable News to build a studio in her home! That's a lot of extra coffee runs, great for the local economy. She has shown bravery as well in raising several million in cash ostensibly to finance a run for POTUS only to lose a leg and abandon the Republic's cause. She's limping all the way to the bank.

Crista you must feel awful right now considering your Republic's saviour abdicated her ascension to duty on the very same day of Steve Job's demise.

In one "Republic Minute" you're hot-snot on a silver platter. Then end up cold-boogers on a paper plate. That's the "Republic," Crista. I'm terribly sorry for you.

As consolation, I'll remind you of that L.A. punk group "The Germs" ca. late 1970s. Like our Sarah the lead singer had a suicide fetish and wanted to go out in a big flash. Regrettably he chose suicide on
the same day of John Lennon's assassination. It hurts but it happens.

But I must ask what other executives might you have seen in action?  Your Townhall bio features you as a retired stockbroker from an unnamed NYSE-member investment firm. "Why are you retired" is the first question that jumps to mind, but we'll let that go for now. I've hardly met your acquaintance, Crista. And we look forward to viewing more of your ... output ... in the future?

Cheers,
Keith

Just Getting Into The Spirit

Yoo Hoo

I've always thought of John Yoo as the Executive Branch equivalent of Chris Crocker, the "Leave Britney alone!" guy.  Chris, as you'll recall, got under a sheet with a video camera and weepily defended a celebrated nitwit whom he had never met, in the process becoming both a YouTube sensation, and a cautionary tale about the benefits of waterproof mascara.

John Yoo, on the other hand, became famous for writing the Bush Administration a "Please excuse George and Dick from the Hague today" note, and for defending the right of a (Republican) President to crush a child's testicles in the interest of national security, in the process proving he was even more cold-blooded and sociopathic than the people who actually committed the torture he enabled.  (Some right wingers claim that waterboarding is not torture, because U.S. service personnel are or were given a brief exposure to it, and I will concede the validity of this argument as soon as Mr. Yoo agrees to splay pantless on the couch and permit a 4-year old with a meat tenderizer to play Whack-A-Mole with his scrotum for five minutes.)

Yoo, as you may recall, did very well in the 2011 Miss Wingnut Pageant, advancing to the final round, before being disqualified amid accusations that he had violated his Evil Amateur status by going pro, accepting payment (in the form of a Justice Department salary) for declaring that a "president's war-making authority was so broad that he had the constitutional power to order a village to be 'massacred'" (hey they took away Jim Thorpe's gold medals for less).

But Yoo hasn't let this minor setback rattle him, and in the NY Post he weighs in on the controversial government assassination of American citizen Anwar al-Awlaki, criticizing the Obama Administration for not killing him enough.

Still confusing terror & crime by John Yoo

It's such a simple rule, you'd think even Obama could have figured it out by now:  Terror is not a crime, it's a war, but war is not a crime, therefore there's no such thing as a war crime.  Got it, overly inquisitive Spanish judges who make distinguished University of California professors uncomfortable when they contemplate visiting Europe or Canada or other self-righteous jurisdictions that criminalize trivial policy differences over testicle crushing?

In all fairness, previous administrations have confused crime and terror, the most famous example dating to 1934, when the J. Edgar Hoover labeled gangster John Dillinger "Enemy Combatant Number 1" and bombed the Biograph Theater in Chicago with radio-controlled aero-torpedos launched from an FBI Zeppelin.

We should be thankful that Obama officials have quietly put aside the arguments they made during the Bush years that any terrorist outside the Afghani battlefield was a criminal suspect who deserved his day in federal court.

Oh, I am grateful, John; and relieved that current interpretation of Article II of the Constitution also allows the President to suspend the presumption of innocence for anyone caught making an illegal left turn by one of those traffic cams, many of which have now been equipped with Hellfire missiles for prompt rush hour adjudication. 

 I’d rather the Obama folks be hypocrites in favor of protecting national security than principled fools (which they are free to be in faculty lounges both before and after their time in government).

Sounds like somebody's a bit miffed that the nerds gave him a low-key welcome back to UC Berkeley, even though he was swanning about in the cool letterman's jacket he'd earned serving as waterboardboy for the Varsity Torture Team.

But that former world-view of terrorism still infects its decisions, to the country’s detriment. According to the reports, the Obama administration believed that force could only be used against Awlaki because arrest was impractical and he posed an imminent threat to the United States. This is plainly wrong.

 Is there a fundamental difference between "American exceptionalism" and the "delusions of grandeur" experienced by most serial killers?  Yes.  The former is hamstrung by all kinds of pettifogging rules, regulations, and laws that prevent its host organism from achieving its ultimate potential as a Randian utopia, whereas the latter leads to a fully actualized Übermensch who realizes that every man is an island -- especially when everybody else in the room is dead and he's standing in a lake of blood.

It may make for good policy, especially toward US citizens who make the mistake of joining the enemy, but there is no legal reason why a nation at war must try to apprehend an enemy instead of shooting at him first.

I feel the same way about about Christmas carolers, and those girls at the mall who try to spritz you with a sample of Axe Body Spray.

Think of the operation to kill Adm. Isoroku Yamamoto in World War II. He was well behind the lines, flying from one military base to another. He didn’t pose an “imminent” threat of attack on America at that moment. The United States didn’t need to ask whether it could have forced Yamamoto’s plane down first and captured him. It was allowed to kill him, just as it could kill any other member of the Japanese military, regardless of his threat.

Wow, I thought I knew my World War II history, but I had no idea that Admiral Yamamoto was an American citizen.  And that's the kind of shameful ignorance that almost guarantees that no President will ever ask me whose balls he can take after with a pair of pliers.  But at least I'm savvy enough to steer clear of the hackneyed, unserious counter-argument that the Imperial Japanese Navy Air Service bomber transporting Yamamoto was a military target which was shot down during a war we'd actually bothered to declare, because that's the kind of thing a namby-pamby untermensch would say.

Ever since the Civil War our national leaders and the Supreme Court have agreed that a citizen who joins the enemy must suffer the consequences of his belligerency, with the same status as that of an alien enemy.

I guess that means we can look forward to statues of Osama Bin Laden, Taliban flags flying over statehouses, and a yearly observance of Al-Qaeda History Month.  At least in the South.

Think of the incentives that the strange Obama hybrid rule creates. Our al Qaeda enemy will want to recruit American agents, who will benefit from criminal-justice rules that give them advantages in carrying out operations against us (like the right to remain silent, to Miranda and lawyers, to a speedy jury trial, etc.).

Um...we killed the guy, Mr. Yoo.  Without regard to nationality or creed, he and everyone in his immediate vicinity were pulped like a box of bulk-bought copies of Ben Shapiro books.  How dead does he have to be?  How much collateral damage will it take before you can finally achieve satisfaction, close the Abu Ghraib portfolio, and pull your pants back up?

Our troops and agents could well hesitate in the field, because they wouldn’t be able to tell in the heat of the moment whether an enemy is American or not.

This is what happens when tough-talking nerds get a taste of power and think they're Conan the Barbarian.

 "What is best in life?"

" To crush your enemies, to see them driven before you, and to make them stop Super Gluing your stapler to the credenza."

Just Call Him Angel of the Morons

By Our "Goes Where Angels Fear to Tread" Correspondent, Bill S.

As we all know, October 11 is the birthday of Anntichrist S. Coulter (see previous World O' Crap post). It's also the birthday of the beautiful and talented Matt Bomer, who in the parallel universe where my life is perfect, is my husband.

But October 11 is also National Coming Out Day, and I'd like to mark the occasion (which, unlike Columbus Day, isn't a national holiday) with a look at a movie aimed at LGBT youth.  In their book Better Living Through Bad Movies, Scott and s.z. failed to include such an entry -- a forgivable oversight, since there are only so many bad movies a human being should be expected to endure. Fortunately, I'm here to pick up the cause. Every movie genre gets the Manos: the Hands of Fate it deserves, and I do believe I've found it: a 2007 gem titled An Angel Named Billy.

Here's the trailer, enjoy!

One of the comments posted at YouTube reads, "omg i used to work with that guy at jamba juice!" The commenter doesn't specify which guy, or when they supposedly worked together. It could be anybody in the cast, and as recently as a month ago. But I'd rather not focus on the batch of virtual unknowns who populate this movie, except to note that the actor playing the titular role was, according to the IMDb, born in December of 1987, which means he was over 18 when this was made. At least I hope so; who knows how long it was sitting a shelf before it saw a release date?

Instead, I think most of the credit for this movie should go to one George Osborne, who wrote, directed, and co-produced it. Mr. Osborne's artistry and insight into human nature take him where Todd Haynes and Gus Van Sant would never go -- on a fast track to total obscurity. At least I hope so.

Before I dive into the plot synopsis, I must confess I only watched this once before mailing it back to NetFlix. While I'm 99% sure I'm recalling it right, there does exist a possibility I've misremembered the order of some scenes. I offer my apologies for any errors, and I offer my sympathies to anyone who saw it enough times to spot an error.

This is the story of Billy, a teenager living in an unamed rural area. We know it's rural from the presence of cowboy hats and bales of hay. Billy's mother left the family years earlier, and he's being raised by his dad, who's a religeous fanatic, an alcoholic, and an abusive asshole. We know these things because he sits at the kitchen table poring over a Bible, slugging down one Scotch after another, and screaming at Billy's younger brother Zack, who looks like a scared rabbit everytime the camera is on him.

Billy has one close friend, Rick, who we rightly, and incorrectly assume will be a major character, since he's featured prominently on the video box, but only has one scene with him. Rick may be moving away. Before he does, he wants to reveal his True Feelings for Billy, and one blissful sunny day, they share a kiss. Billy is dumbfounded (not just now, but frequently.) It never occurred to him Rick might be gay; it seems to have never occured to him that he might gay himself. This moment of clarity, and budding romance, are both disrupted by the appearance of Billy's dad, who's been spying on the boys, and comes lumbering down a hill like a drunken water buffalo, screaming homophobic epithets. He catches up to Billy and drags him back home to berate him in a more appropriately private setting. Seething with rage, he snarls, "Fer all ah know, yew might alriddy have AAAAIDS!!!"

He orders Billy to leave, and the young man trudges over to a nearby closet, grabs a tiny bookbag, and heads for the door. Zack appears in the stairwell and pleads with him not to leave, but Billy shakes his head mounfully and exits. We rightly, and incorrectly assume the brothers will try to remain in contact, but for the rest of the picture Billy seems to completely forget about Zack, or maybe the director does. As Billy walks down a long, desolate stretch of a road, a car stops, and Billy gets in to travel to places unknown.

A scared, broke, homeless teenager is traveling through the state by hopping into strange cars, and this seems to a good time for the director to cut away from him to introduce us to some of the other characters. Thomas, a bald, aging drag queen, is seated at his vanity table, dabbing on makeup and talking to himself, announcing each action before he does it. This is the most depressing, humourless drag queen in movie history ("Priscilla, Queen of the Desolate"), and as this scene played on (and on and on and on), it marked the first of many times during the film that I began to wonder if it might be some kind of stealth project by an anti-gay wingnut. Who else would have such trouble coming up with a decent drag queen name?

Thomas gets a call from his straight friend Mark, who he appears to have a crush on. His slurred speech suggests Mark is recovering from a stroke; his dialogue however, suggests a far more severe form of brain damage. Mark has an adult son named James, who lives in an apartment next door to Mark's house. James is a gay photographer in his late thirties. Thomas and Mark are concerned that James is lonely; they'd like to see him settle down with Mr. Right. Mark has even started looking at websites for gay singles, hoping to find his son a date. Which isn't creepy and disturbing at all, at least not to the director.

Before Mark can sign his son up with Manhunt.com, tragedy strikes: late one evening, James is awakend by a noise next door. Sensing it's a medical emergency, he LEAPS OUT OF BED URGENTLY...dutifully hunts for his bathrobe and carefully puts it on, then...RACES TO HIS FATHER'S SIDE. He realizes it's another stroke and dials 911, sobbing hysterically. This second stroke leaves Mark confined to a whelchair. It becomes clear to James that his dad will require round the clock assistance from a qualified health care proffessional, or failing that, the assistance of the first person he can find who can work cheaply and move in immediately.

Billy arrives at Donna's Cafe. At least, I think it's supposed to be a cafe; it looks more like someone set up a bunch of patio furniture on their lawn and hung a sign out. He befriends the waiter, Guy, a spiky haired twink who has a laid-back attitude about everything, including the fact that Billy can't pay for anything. He helpfully directs Billy to a bulletin board where there might be want ads posted, and offers to let him crash at his apartment until he can find a place of his own. He then introduces Billy to his boss, Donna, a self-proclaimed "fag hag", who Guy says is helpful to many a young gay newbie, offering protection.

Billy asks, "Protection? From what?" Guy replies, "From them!" pointing at a pair of leering old queens who look like they were bussed in from the '70's. We rightly, and incorrectly assume Donna will be an important figure in Billy's life, but she disappears after this one scene, which is just as well since she's super annoying.

Billy finds the want ad placed by James, and tears off the phone number, then he and Guy retire to Guy's apartment. We are treated to a tour of the place that showcase the director's keen eye. For instance, when guy a opens the door to the bathroom and lists the available items for use, the camera then cuts to a closeup of the bathroom, revealing all those items, to prove Guy was telling the truth.   (The moral of the story so far: man-pimpin' your offspring leads to cerebral blood clots, and never trust a stranger who picks you up in a diner and takes you home unless you can verify the location of his Listermint and bunion pads.)

The two young men strip to their boxers and climb into bed. We rightly and incorrectly expect them to hook up, but they shut the light, turn away from each other and go to sleep. The director was more interested in showing their pecs than showing any aspect of their relationship.

Billy arrives at Mark and James' place, and James offers him a glass of water, which Billy eagerly accepts (yes, this conversation occurs.) He meets Mark, and the old man hits it off quite nicely with the teen, so he's hired right away. I guess puppy dog eyes and a sweetly blank-faced grin qualify someone to care for an elderly stroke victim. But he soon proves his job skills, taking Mark to the park to do wheelies in his chair. Mark declares Billy is "an angel". Uh, okay. James also begins to take a shine to Billy. His father notes, "I haven't seen such a spark you in a long time." Perhaps it's the way James looks at Billy: namely, the way he peers into the kid's bedroom as he sleeps, clad only in his boxers. Which isn't creepy and disturbing at all, at least not to the director.

Billy asks James to show him the studio where James does his phtography. The studio is a sparsley furnished room with no lighting equipment or darkroom, only a single camera set up on a tripod. We rightly and incorrectly assume this may lead to some kind of erotically charged scene, but they barely look at each other. Billy does however take note of some pictures on the wall, of a rather uniteresting-looking middle aged man. James identifies the man as his ex-boyfriend, Todd, who was a drug addict. The two walk back to the main house, and James asks Billy if he'd like to join him later for margaritas. Which isn't creepy and disturbing at all, at least not to the director.

Billy has written to his Aunt Sharon, telling her about his new home and job. She relays this news to his mother's place of work, where the note is intercepted by a Sassy Black Woman whose eyes look like they're about to bug out of her head. S.B.W. delivers the note to Billy's mom. We rightly and incorrectly hope we'll get some insight into why she deserted her family and didn't retain custody of her sons, but this leaves us more baffled than we already were.

Billy takes up the offer to share margaritas, and they have an intimate chat, which goes like this:

BILLY: So, if Todd was your boyfriend, does this mean...you like...guys?

JAMES: Yes, I do.

BILLY: Are you still in love with Todd? Do you ever think of getting back with him?

JAMES: No, I'm not still in love with him, and I don't want to get back with him.

BILLY: Then why do you keep his picture up on the wall?

JAMES: It hides a messy stain that's lying there.

Okay, I added those last two lines, but the rest is almost word for word what they say to each other. Billy gets an invitation from Guy to go out to a club. He asks James if he'd like to come along. James declines, saying his days of hitting clubs are over. (Yeah, from the looks of him, he hasn't set foot in one since Falco was big.)

Billy gets a call from his mother. We rightly and incorrectly expect him to be furious with her for deserting him and his brother and leaving them with an abusive drunk. But as we've already seen, the boy's as sharp as a bag of wet hair, so he's happy to talk about his new job, and the two "cool guys" who've taken him in. (Yes, this conversation occurs.) Mark beams, "I'm cool!" and adds, "Chickenpot, chickenpot, chickenpot piiiiiee!!!"

The evening at the club, which happens off-screen due to obvious budget constraints, doesn't go over well. Billy returns in tears, telling James that Guy's friends teased him and called him a "nerd" for having a job caring for an old man. WHAT THE FUCK?

Seriously...what the fuck?

James puts his arms around Billy, and assures him there's no shame in the job he has. They share a kiss, and head into the bedroom. We rightly and incorrectly expect a romantic love scene, but instead they lie on the bed, fully clothed, about a foot apart, and the scene fades to the next morning.
Mark has been waiting up all night, and as James shuffles into the kitchen looking disheveled, his father cheerfully notes that he's aware of what happened. He also observes, "You were pretty loud", and proceeds to make heavy breathing sex noises. Which isn't creepy and disturbing, at least not to the director. Billy then enters, equally disheveled, and Mark repeats the observation, because the first time wasn't gross enough.

Now that he knows his son has found True Love with a teenaged runaway, Mark is content that he can die happily. He calls up Thomas to discuss his will. Why, is Thomas a cross-dressing lawyer? And if he is, why didn't they make that movie instead of this one? ("Priscilla, Queen of the Default Judgment.")

With less than 20 minutes left to go in the film, a new complication arrives: Todd wants to get back together with James, and figures the best way to do it is to break into his house. But James catches him and insists he never wants to get back together. He then adds, "I've found somebody else. He's younger, cuter, and less likely to give me hepatitis." (Well, he would have said that, if I'd written the script.) He kicks Todd to the curb.

Mark finally kicks the bucket, once again reducing James to a puddle of tears. Billy's mother arrives. She tell him he's known all along her son was gay ("a mother knows these things."). She then rather matter-of-factly tells Billy his father died in an auto accident, his brother is staying with his Aunt temporarily, and she plans on moving to be closer to him. Billy reacts with a blankness that suggests nobody on the set has the slightest clue how a person would react to such news.

It's time to wrap things up, so we get a montage of the characters as Billy tells us what happens in voiceover:

His mother and Thomas start a computer dating service for gay singles (who better to play matchmaker than an insecure drag queen and a deadbeat mom?), Billy and James get married (we see them in a limo with the words "Just Married" on the back window) and Guy "surprised us all" by moving back to Billy's old hometown, where he inherited a house he now shares with Rick.

Um, okay then.

We rightly and correctly assume there have been porno films better directed. And better written. And better acted. And more rooted in reality. And less skeevy.

But what message of hope does it offer to LGBT youth? I guess it might be this:

If you're a gay teen who feels rejected by your family and you're struggling to find your place in the world, try to look on the positive side of things -- after all, you could wind up being married, at the age of 18, to a creepy, reclusive, middle-aged loser who still lives with his dad. Aren't you glad that hasn't happened to you? So cheer up kids, things could be a whole lot worse.

I guess the movie was inspirational. Just not in the way it was intended.

Happy Birthday Anntichrist S. Coulter!

She's the cool aunt.  The one who'll let you smoke in the house.  The one who'll burst out laughing if you cuss creatively enough at the Thanksgiving table.  The one who'll reward you for finishing your homework with a sip off her beer.  And that's why we all run to the door with a whoop and a holler every time we hear her pickup truck pull into the driveway, excited to see what little gem of profane rhetoric she's brought us this time.

So please join Sheri, Mary and I in wishing our Annti a fabulous birthday. 

Now let's get this party started!

Mary says:  If someone asked me to describe Anntichrist Coulter, I would say...

She's the most selfless person I know, who should really be way more selfish.

No matter what life throws at her, she bears it with an almost obscene sense of humor, but more importantly, she doesn't let life conquer her.  No matter what is going on in her life, she is always there for the people who need her.  Even when she's down and out herself, she still thinks of others, and tries to lighten their burdens with a gift of a wonderfully crappy movie from the Dollar Store, or a beautiful piece of handmade jewelry that I will promptly steal from the intended recipient, because I'm not nearly as nice as she is, and frankly, Scott can't pull off a choker.

She is a beacon of hope. She is a beacon of action. She is a beacon of righteous anger.  She is...Annti Christ Coulter. And she is sublime.

Now back to the birthday cheesecake:

No Ann Coulter for you, this year.  Sorry.