So it's crossed my mind that as a lover of whimper-metal band Dir en grey, I may be marked as a gaywad by some. It's a fair trade-off, 'cause Dir en gay is addictively melodic, bone-crunching shit if you can endure what can be judiciously described as weepy, whiny flights of nancy that mar otherwise ass-tight records. I pondered my potential gayness while excitedly scanning the Japanese quintet's just-announced tour itinerary and clutching a floral-print handkerchief to my chest. My boner joined the discussion, reminding me that just this very morning at Chicago's O'Hare Airport (aka Satan's Asshole), I bumped into Megan Hauserman of VH1's I Love Money. She's hot as holy christing fuck and -- if her persona on ILM and last year's Rock Of Love 2 is any indication -- pure evil. Anyway, my boner's point is that I didn't place a limp hand on her forearm and gaspingly rave about her taste in handbags or her cute widdle dog (above). I believe my exact words were: "Hey Megan. What's up?" Not exactly my best material (it was like 9 AM), but pair it with one of my coolest/best-laundered shirts and that sleepily horny look in my eye, and what do you get: Not gay! Call me, Megan!
My boner makes a strong argument. Thinking back, it occurs to me that I fucking first discovered Deg in a 'love hotel' (euphemism alert: sex motel) on Japan's non-MTV music video station. (The channel with dewey leaves and birds taking flight for bumpers.) I would've been watching free porno, but every scenario is some guy chasing and dorkily attacking a chubby, ill-shaven girl with bad teeth and anyway Japan blurs out all the naughty parts. I don't really need the science project close-ups or anything, but ... come on. Anyway, I'm totally not gay because though the song and video are both explosive, I happily turned it right off once a naked girl popped out of the hotel room's shower and instructed me to penetrate her. Not gay!