I Hate It, But I Drink It Anyway, Dept.

You know, there are things that I love. Familiar things that do not lose their pleasure even through familiarity or frequent reencounter. Annie Hall, for example. Dusty in Memphis. And, of course, far-right-wing, Jesus-bothering homophobes getting caught fucking rentboys.

George Alan Rekers, sclerotic co-founder of the Gospel-gargling, bigotry broodmare Family Research Council, was discovered returning from a 10-day European vacation in the company of a comely companion of his own gender, said companion described in public writing as possessing a "smooth, sweet, tight ass" and "perfectly built 8 inch cock (uncut)" and being "sensual," "wild," and "up for anything." I'll let the Miami New Times tell the story:

Reached by New Times before a trip to Bermuda, Rekers said he learned Lucien was a prostitute only midway through their vacation. "I had surgery," Rekers said, "and I can't lift luggage. That's why I hired him." (Medical problems didn't stop him from pushing the tottering baggage cart through MIA.)

Yet Rekers wouldn't deny he met his slender, blond escort at Rentboy.com — which features homepage images of men in bondage and grainy videos of crotch-rubbing twinks — and Lucien confirmed it.

Nom nom nom. It's Schadenfreude Wednesday, kids. The reveal is as good as you could want, short of, to paraphrase Lenny Bruce, Karl Rove whacking it in Ann Coulter's face. And as inevitable.

At this point in our history, the über-religious homophobe who indulges a taste for twink or trade is as familiar a figure as the Pilgrim forefather and the Confederate general. One thing, however, that never ceases to amaze, on a level of which Siegfried and Roy could only have dreamt, and amuse, like Ann Coulter whacking it in Karl Rove's face: how these self-loathing twunts think They'll Pull It Off FOREVER. But enough of them do that it holds out hope to these crippled souls.

And it's only Semi-Schadenfreude Wednesday, kids. Because, however much I deepdish despise those who stifle themselves and make others pay the cost in blood and tears, I have to feel some level of sympathy for a person so broken. Which is an unfamiliar feeling for me.

So, Happy Semi-Schadenfreude Wednesday. I still love hearing these stories every single time they surface. But, by posting's end, the white enamel of pleasure has an unignorable mar.