Sunday, July 12, 2009

Slytherin To My Bed...

Due to recent economic hardship, the Gayvorites Team has decided to follow the trend set by many other corporate headquarters, with the philosophy - cut jobs, hire interns. Being a recent startup, our Corporate Office decided to let go staff members that hadn’t even thought of applying yet. (Gayvorites strives to follow major business models in every way possible. Just because we're a small operation that turns no actual profit, doesn't mean we can't play with the big kids! We've already purchased John Thain-style $131,000 area rugs and a $1,400 wastebasket, squandering countless taxpayer dollars, and we're on our way to getting bought out by afterellen.com.) That said, we weren't hiring any old schmuck or bored housewife who wandered in off the streets.

We were willing to settle for nothing less than the best and brightest of the gay community, namely, Ivy Leaguers. Of the eight prestigious institutions, the gayest in our book, of course, is Brown University (Harvard being a total closet case). Notable for it's lack of structured course requirements and nonexistent majors, Brown ensures that its students have room for one or two Queer Studies course at some point during their matriculation, making it the ideal feeder school. We selected two bright-eyed hopefuls with impressive resumes and even better looks. And with that, we sent the new recruits hoofing to find relevant and timely topics on which to blog. Without further ado, we present the findings of Bi-vy League Intern Number 1, Cherry Dactyl.

________________________________________________


One recent night at the local multiplex, as I pondered the delicate balance between how many boxes of “Buncha Crunch” I could eat versus how big I was comfortable with my ass growing, I noticed from afar a glossy aura of gay emanating from a movie poster. Faster than a Seeker in the Quidditch World Cup, I pushed moviegoers out of my way and moved in for a closer look. My strutting was brought to a screeching halt when I accurately identified the image, and all four boxes of “Buncha Crunch” tumbled from my hands.

Standing in font of me was Tom Felton, sporting eye shadow and a turtleneck, his hand firmly grasping a wand. I’m as straight as a segment in Euler’s approximation—and that being said, clearly enjoy spending my time solving differential equations more than competing in drag shows—but I must admit I had to gird my loins a bit after my eyes met his penetrating gaze. It seems that Tom Felton's success is rising much like the shorts of all the male theater-goers upon seeing his performance, earning him an instant nom for hottest gay-crush of the year.

Now I know some of you will feel that I am misreading the issue and that Tom Svelton has a case of Legolas Syndrome, a condition identified in 2001 when Orlando Bloom captured the gushing hearts of horny middle school girls worldwide. However, WebMD states, “Legolas Syndrome can only be confirmed if an actor’s fan base is over 80% of the little buggers,” and as the survey on uppityschoolgirls.net proves, Felton’s fan base in only 30% schoolgirl as of 2008. It could be a lot worse.

Thankfully, he isn’t some sparkling vampire that’ll give you weird shaped hickeys and educate you on all the latest emo fashion trends available at Hot Topic. Pattinson’s unfortunate accident with a truck full of facial glitter may initially catch the eyes of some naive rainbow wavers, but his hollow personality and shallow character can only be desired by his true fan base—teenage girls who mistake mood swings for depth. I mean, when you have more appearances on Entertainment Tonight than you have film credits, we definitely have a problem. TomTom, on the other hand, has more layers than the labyrinth in the Triwizard Tournament, although the riddle his sphinx presents is a bedazzling hex, designed to protect his ambiguous sexual tendencies. In my opinion, it’s only a matter of time before Tomboy comes hurdling out of the closet, ready to serve some lucky lad’s every whim in the role of loyal house-elf.

The reasons for my prognosis are numerous. As the porn industry has deftly taught us, it’s what’s on the inside that really matters. Draco Malfoy, Tom Felton’s character, has all of the closeted qualities that make men yearn to teach him how a man taps his wand on another man’s caldron. For starters, he dates Pansy Parkinson, but she simply represents the beard that he is unable to grow. For Christ's sake, his wand is made with fucking unicorn hair!

Furthermore, he expresses his true feelings towards men by turning Crabbe and Goyle into women with the help of some polyjuice potion and doing who-knows-what with them in the bathroom while Moaning Myrtle catches an eyeful over the top of the stall. I don’t know about you, but I always have to take a cold shower after ruminating over that steamy scene.

Need more proof that Tommy F. is the next gay messiah? Look no further than the single lock of hair woven and placed in front of the rest of his mane, hands-down the most closeted haircut this correspondent has ever laid eyes on. His eyes may scream evil, but his hair whispers that he wants a friend. I’m sure even Queer Eye’s grooming guru, Kyan Douglas, would approve of the subtle way in which those platinum tresses flow with mind-blowing perfection.

As a result of viewing Felton’s incendiary performance in the next Potter installment this summer, I’m predicting we’ll see more than one pair of moviegoer britches ignite into flames quicker than you can cast an “engorgio” or “erectus” spell.

If you want more titillating writings on the subject to tide you over until our favorite squeeze hits the big screen this week, read some online fan fiction, and make sure you employ the “Hary Potterr Ficton Selecshun” search method: there must be at least one grammatical error and misspelling in the first sentence and the title.

So eventually when Rowling, riding off the success of Felton’s queer following, needs more publicity and off-handedly reveals that Malfoy is the second gay Hogwarts-goer, remember – you heard it here first!

Rating: Rollerblading on a Sunday in neon pink spanky pants.

Good to Know: Just in case you were wondering - his wand is a whopping 10" boys, which Ollivander notes is "reasonably springy".

The Bottom Line: Straight as I may be, Tom Felton can take a ride on my broomstick any time he likes.

No comments:

Post a Comment