Historically, girls and gays have gone together like Salma Hayek and the Rosetta Stone- they can exist without each other, but alone, neither of them makes that much sense. There are many reasons for hoes to need their homos, ranging from having someone who will listen to your problems without turning your emotional vulnerability into an impromptu afternoon rape, to having someone to talk you through the first time you try anal sex (with your husband, of course. You know the old adage-why buy the cow if it doesn’t come with a bottle of lube?). I believe the main reason that girls and gays get along so swimmingly, is because there is no baggage or bullshit involved.

Many times, when gays befriend other gays,  (or girls befriend straight guys) there is a sexual element that can get in the way.

When girls befriend girls, many times they get catty and competitive with each other.

Girls and gays can just be themselves with each other without worrying about penises, vaginas, or competition getting in the way.

According to the scientific lexicon that is my brain, that is the main reason for the girl + gay dynamic. Here are a few others though, that didn’t make it into this video:

NOBODY is born with natural blowjob skills. Giving a beej takes as much practice as anything else, and in some countries (Scott Disick’s man cave) these skills are as revered as those of a Japanese neurosurgeon.

Gays won’t look down on you for having a one night stand. In fact, text a bitch before your walk of shame and I bet they will join you, wearing matching sweatpants with heels, latte in hand.

Gays will be completely honest with you. Feel like you look like a truck-stop transgendered 350 lb lesbian? Want to hear the truth? Girls might be worried about hurting your feelings. Straight guys might be worried they will never get laid again. Gay guys will rip you to shreds and build you back up, much more cutesy than before. So if total honesty is what you are looking for, look no further than the homo down the street.

Read more about girls and gays on TheLuxurySpot.com

As common sense and rationale dictates,  sensible arguments in opposition to gay marriage do not actually exist. In layman’s terms, that means that people who oppose gay marriage are ignorant, and don’t actually have a leg to stand on. And if they did, that leg would be outfitted in a shoe from Kmart manufactured from scrap pieces of leather made from dog hide in Mexico. Forward thinking Americans don’t stand in the way of progress, but lets pretend for an instance that they did. Here are several reasons to oppose gay marriage.

If gay marriage passes, straight marriages will be null and void, because husbands and wives everywhere will leave their spouses in favor of marrying the same sex. Obviously, because if you are already married you know how great it is, and will be clamoring to enter into another marriage asap with your tennis coach.

If gay marriage passes, the sanctity of the nuclear family will be destroyed, leaving countless children orphaned. This is especially true since the model of the nuclear family has worked out so well, as evidenced by the low divorce rates the US. Everyone knows that gays aren’t capable of raising children, since parenting has everything to do with who you have sex with, and nothing to do with your moral character or values.Achhem, I would be remiss if I didn’t include one phrase here: The Pope.

Gay marriage is an affront to everything this country was built upon. For instance, life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Most of all, freedom. Everyone knows that rules and traditions exist for a reason. That is why women still can’t vote, and black people have to sit at the back of the bus.

First off, I want to say that I am not calling Kim Kardashian fat. I would never call a pregnant woman fat, mostly because I don’t need to. It is a known fact that women gain weight during pregnancy–they have to, otherwise their babies will be born glamorously thin, and then have no goals to work towards in life. I will take this opportunity, as I often do, to say this:

Originally, Keeping up with the Kardashians was komprised of 4 sisters: Kim, Khloe, Kourtney, and Killah, the out of work killer whale actress from the Free Willy movies. Killah was let go, however, after it was discovered that her and Khloe wouldn’t fit in the same big black Escalade at the same time. And by big black Escalade, I mean big black dick.

My money is on Kim. Literally. My wallet is sitting on top of her ass in this photo, you just can’t see it hidden behind all the bad fashion.

All I am going to say is that this dress reminds me of her love life.

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For those of us who are aware that Hugh Jackman is a card carrying powerdrill-collecting Crisco pre-lubing bottom, this may come as no surprise. But Marvel X-men character Wolverine was recently revealed to be a homo, and in a secret relationship with Hercules. If you can bypass the fucktuppery of that statement for one moment, I can explain. Apparently in the Marvel universe there are different realities, and in this particular one Wolverine is in a monogamous (meaning they have threesomes with fresh-off-the-boat Colombian bartenders from Craigslist) relationship with this particular universes version of Hercules. Of course, Hercules’ father (who is apparently a member of the Westboro Baptist Church) can’t stand the fact that his son would be in a relationship with a “mortal” (read: guy) and sends them both to the fiery pits of Hell.

Sounds about right. I am a little shocked by this because if I was going to pinpoint a stool-stuffer from X-men my money would have been on Gambit or Jubilee. Gambit, because he obviously liked to hit the bottle and you know most guys are three beers away from a midnight hand-job in the basement, and Jubilee because Asian twinks have no choice but to be gay- because no self-respecting woman would ever sleep with them.

Regardless, I am glad that Wolverine finally found a big, beefy back to dig his claws into. I can only imagine the smell of the bear-on-bear leather bondage sex they must have. I would go so far as to say it smells like unkempt hobo ballsack, Nutella, and Jovan Musk.

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There once was a bear and a rabbit and they hated each other. The bear and rabbit then stumbled upon a magical talking tree. The tree said: “I will grant you 3 wishes a piece if you will stop fighting!”

So the bear went first. “I wish all the bears in the forest are females.” And all the bears in the forest turned into females.

The rabbit said: “I wish I had a helmet.” Rabbit gets the helmet and the bear looks at him funny.

The bear wishes: “I wish all the bears in the country are females.” The wish was granted.

The rabbit says, “I wish I have a motorcycle.” By this point the bear thinks the rabbit is the stupidest thing he’s ever seen. The rabbit could wish for money and have all the motorcycles in the world.

The bear says: “I wish all the bears in the world are female.” The wish is granted.

When it’s the rabbit’s turn to wish, he puts on his helmet, gets on his motorcycle, and says: “I wish that bear is gay.”

Addendum: But what the rabbit didn’t realize is that bears are much faster than motorcycles. So the bear ran after the rabbit, took out the motorcycle with one swipe of his huge claw, and fucked the rabbit in the ass.

Good day sir.

It doesn’t matter if you watched the Academy Awards last night or not, you have undoubtedly heard all about it today.

As expected, Jennifer Lawrence was so goddamned down-to-earth, personable and gorgeous that both of America’s previous sweethearts put themselves in the hospital. Julia Roberts smiled so hard her horse teeth cracked into shards, creating a mild earthquake in the San Fernando Valley. Reese Witherspoon hyperventilated, her breaths causing her face to finally cave in on itself, as it has been trying to do since she hatched out of that dragon’s egg so many years ago.

Anne Hathaway was insufferable, making sure to thank every single person in the production, in an effort to not seem insufferable. I am pretty sure her teleprompter just listed the credit roll from Les. Mis. She even thanked the dry oatmeal and celery diet that helped get her crucifixion thin.

Seth MacFarlane was hilarious and charming as a host. If he wasn’t 4 feet tall, I would stick it right up his pooper.

Argo, or whatever movie that is where Ben Affleck borrowed Raquel Welch’s morning wig in order to dress up like a dime-store pedophile and save the world or whatever won best picture, which made me wonder if nobody at the Academy saw Jack and Jill, with that busted Weho tranny Adam Sandler.

But on, to more important things, here are the biggest hot messes of the night :

Adele (pictured above) obviously farted on stage. That look on her face is the same one we all make when we fart in our sleep and it wakes us up. The whole: “Did my boyfriend hear that? Did it actually happen?  Just to be safe I better hold my breath and pretend to be asleep. Will he ever look at me sexually again? Oh wait, never mind, I am alone.”

John Travolta’s wig, and his New Jersey bourgouise pronunciation of Les Miseraberlereassay.

Sandra Bullock flashed us a glimpse of her real face, when even her man-hands couldn’t manage to get the envelope open. Now we know the truth- that in her Oscar winning performance for The Blind Side, she played both herself, and that big black football player orphan or whatever. All I’m saying is that you don’t get a neck that thick without bench-pressing  a ham hock or two. Or being born with a penis.

Renee Zellweger was shit-faced. She stumbled over her words, swayed back and forth while she was presenting, and was almost knocked over by George Clooney. It is also clearly obvious that when they went backstage, Catherine Zeta (whose presentation reminded me of a Florida drag queen winning a local pageant) dipped into her emergency stash of primo Colombian cocaine to perk Zellweger up enough to form coherent sentences.

Dare I say it, I actually enjoyed the Oscars this year.

If I were a dinosaur, I would probably do it in the ass, too. With all those sharp teeth, blowies probably aren’t an option. Who wants to do it in the whiney giney and bring more scaly, reptilian monsters into the world? Most dinosaurs have tiny little pincer fingers, or sharp claws, so a good old fashioned hand-job won’t cut it. The asshole was really the only option for dinosaurs. Am I saying that if we homos keep having butt-sex that we will eventually go extinct? Probably. But we will look fabulous doing it.

Boomroasted.

I consider myself pretty well-versed in the sub-categories of gay culture. The standard categories of bear, twink, otter, and garflog narfler (Coneheads reference-get some culture, people) are pretty well-known. I have only recently heard about the Gaymer subculture however, and I have to admit I don’t really understand it. So its a couple or group of gay guys that get together and play video games? This basically means that they drone out and entertain themselves by doing everything except talking to each other? Doesn’t that just make them a hetero married couple?

I play Mario Kart all the time with my roommate when I am fucked up, but does that make me a Gaymer? Is there some kind of initiation rite I had to go through, like 6 rounds of ass-pounding in the ring with Ryu from street-fighter, before I can join? Do I need to drink Gaymer Cider (yes, I Googled) in order to be accepted?

Long story short, I just don’t get it. Anyone want to clue me in?

Its a well-accepted fact that if you are going to partake in anal sex, you may encounter feces. Everybody wants to go downtown to brown-town, but not everybody relishes (interesting word choice) being knee-deep in poo (or balls deep, as it were). Many people refuse to have anal sex, because they are worried they will drop a big old cleveland steamer on their boyfriends junk, and he will never be able to look at them in the eye (or the brown eye) again. Ask anyone who is spiritually enlightened and they will tell you that it often does feel like you might evacuate your dancefloor when you are getting plowed up the pooper, but most of the time that is not the case. So how do we assure that we will be squeaky clean for our anal adventure?

Douche: This is the most popular method of cleaning out your asshole. They even do it in hospitals, so you know it’s legit. It involves buying an enema at your local drug store (find one with a self-checkout unless you have no shame. Bravo to that), inserting the tube up your ass, and shooting water or saline into your colon to flush yourself out. A friend of mine used to douche so much she used a regular old water bottle. How? I have no clue. Then, you will have about 20-30 minutes of ass vomiting, which I find pretty uncomf. I was lucky enough to be born naturally clean, so I have only used an enema once, and then it was just as an experiment. To me, it was as annoying as having to explain to your boyfriend why there is a corn kernel stuck to his shaft.

Starve yourself beforehand- The math behind this method is simple. If you don’t eat anything, you won’t shit on anyone’s dick. Side effects of this method are extreme glamor, wait loss, and an attitude so bitchy you aren’t likely to agree to anal sex in the first place. But, if you are an African, or trying to make it in the modeling industry you are probably used to starving yourself anyway, so this may be the best method for you.

Drop a deuce 20 minutes before- I have a friend who used to get up every morning, drink a cup of coffee, and lay his morning turd before his boyfriend would even wake up. This is the equivalent of a woman waking up, sneaking out of bed, and putting on makeup so her boyfriend never finds out she actually looks like a fucking gorgon. This method is pretty effective, especially if you know beforehand that someone is going to try and sneak in your back-door. The only downside is that sitting on a toilet doing lamaze while your boyf waits in the other room with a slowly deflating hard-on isn’t exactly the best foreplay.

Follow these handy instructions, and you can safely enjoy anal sex without worry about any bullshit (or human shit) showing up and ruining the party. If all else fails, soak a feather duster in Lysol, shove it up your glory hole, and do the twist. Just don’t be surprised if your boyfriend comments on your lemony fresh stinker, turns to the camera, and winks.