The Italian po-po arrested two men for smooching in front of Rome's Colosseum. The Colosseum? The world landmark Colosseum? The monument to Roman decadence and achievement? Isn't that like arresting Alexander Graham Bell's grandson for using a pay phone?

Hot Latin activist-types held the requisite kiss-in in response.

Remember the confirmation from the Pentagon (those polyhedral geniuses in charge of keeping our fatherland secure), admitting to actually developing ideas for a gay bomb? We recently blogged about it.

In a strange Kubrickian turn, the truth continues to be stranger than any fiction, as a now work of fiction is in the works about this perplexing truth.

Yup. Gay Bomb, the movie. Courtesy of the strokey folks behind GayTanamo.

(Any straying from the direct clicks above must be considered not safe for work.)

Word.
Word up.

Another blog. Another gay-boy blog. Another gay-boy blog about fashion. Another gay-boy blog about fashion on TV in which "two fabulously glamorous fags rip the show they L-O-V-E to watch." Oh, we just know we are going to get addicted.

I would kill for the shirt that bloggers Tom & Lorenzo's friend Emmett is wearing in picture No. 5 of the entry Four Gayboy Four. But then again, I'm a dyke, what do I know? I know that shirt is crispy.

Thanks to Lee Nichols, via his wife Margaret's fabulous blog, This Corrosion for the head's up.

We're in Houston for Pride, so enjoy these vids until our return. After a late-night/after-parade throw down at Bartini, these about sum it all up.

Thanks to Molly Gove and Cee Kay Dub for the head's up.

At the end of each of these, YouTube will offer you more options to view. We highly recommend hazily exploring the Teletubbies-rap-mash-up genre. Yes, it seems to be its own genre.

My dad used to work for Hallmark, you know, the greeting-card company that pretty much cemented Valentine's to schmoop-schmoop consumerism?

According to Queerty and Gay.com, some seriously What-Were-They-Thinking??? content made it onto the racks for Father's Day. Called out by some rightfully freaked out consumers, the greeting-card giant was quick to re-evaluate their "sentiment", and yanked the cards from all shelves.

Whoops. The Gay Place is not satisfied. In fact, we say they can "Yank This" and, while they're at it, remain tied up and made to watch the Tyra Banks show for 72 hours straight. (Was it insensitive for us to say "straight"?)

Be careful what you stick up there. We mean, up in that surgeon general position, of course.

Bush nominates another winner.

Still shaken from this visitation.

It happened at Chuy's. At happy hour.

We are convinced it had nothing to do with the margaritas: rocks, no salt. We did, after all, obtain photographic proof.

First, la virgen herself, or perhaps a beatific prankster, appeared in the queso, but Kate B. was so famished that she dipped and scooped, and the lady disappeared.

We were lucky – blessed, you might say. The spirit was strong, despite the will being weak, yet we were still offered one more chance at redemption, to appreciate the benevolence of her visitation – an intimate encounter, if you will. (See pic.)

She came in a blaze of maize. Gentle, symmetrical folds. Tender, blushing button. Hosanna. Hey. Sanna. Sanna. Sanna corn. Aparicion misteriosa.

Here's this year's Pride Parade. (Click on the Gallery link for a slew of pics.)

One of our favorite things to do during Pride is to go to the parade staging area an hour or so before the start and bask in the community that convinces itself the rest of the year that it's not really a community. Oh, really? Could've fooled us.

It's easy to get all goose-fleshy at that buildup right before the launch, that moment when all the PAs of the various floats begin to crank out their individual ooooonce-ooonce. All that dance music floating about to create one big smashing mash-up.

This year, there was a moment of drama, when the truck pulling the joint-venture float between Out Youth and PFLAG did not start. Entire rows of floats and participants had to pass them by as they frantically tried to crank the SUV. Then, just at the last minute, as the last floats were making their way into queue, the truck vrrrrooooomed, and the float took its place in line.

I found the whole thing to be very emotional.

But then again, I cry at parades.

I was so busy being out this week, all Pride-like and stuff, I totally missed this Earth-shattering news. But didn't really, since I called it about 1,000 years ago. Along with the rest of the known universe.