Priscilla, McQueen of the Metropolitan

TUTTLE MODE | REVIEW

Gentle reader,

Scott and I just got back from New York and, holy shit, it was hot out there!  When you add the humidity to the record-breaking high temperatures, it could have made for some pretty sticky fashion moments.  Luckily, one of our New York polo gays had tipped me off about the impending heat wave in time for me to switch out the Balmain rocker look I’d planned to pack for a cooler, crisper Hamptons-style wardrobe.   Skinny jeans and lace-up boots at 103 degrees?  I don’t fucking think so.

What I really should have been wearing in NYC

Now, I know that we usually share some good times over a quality television show or two but there was no time this last week for watching anything except a couple of late night episodes of Chelsea Lately and, after the kinds of late nights I was having, I don’t really remember too much about those.  We have other eye-opening stuff to chat about, though, so not to worry.

Breakdown Freddie vs The World

BAKER STREET 

by Eric J Baker

The time to confess a dark secret has come: 37 years ago, I tried to kill someone. I do not know if there is a statute of limitations on attempted murder, but I’ll have to take my chances. The guilt is eating me up, and I’ve just learned that, to the new generation, 7 to 10 years in prison isn’t all that long.

The Guidos of "Jersey Shore" belie how hazardous it is to grow up in the Garden State.

My victim was Breakdown Freddie, a kid in my neighborhood. The scene played out like this: He hit me softly with a fuzzy slipper. In what might be described as one of the most unreasonable overreactions in the history of random kids from New Jersey overreacting, I kicked him down a flight of stairs.

I’m Too Sexy For My Car

BAKER STREET

 by Eric J Baker

Welcome to Pure Film Creative or, as I like to think of it, Tiger Beat for intellectuals (and perverts; you know which one you are).

Regular readers of these pages will often find us opining on who is sexy (Ashton Kutcher, Duran Duran, Mary Elizabeth Winstead) and who is not (Killough’s former landlady Susan Blais, Russell Crowe, pre-Raphaelite painters). It’s easy to do when you’re talking about movie stars and fashionable pop bands, since good looks are a prerequisite for such roles in society. With political figures, the distinction is murkier. Much like the sewage most of them crawled from.

What's not sexy about an Aussie thug in a tub with a stogie, a brew and phone he's about to brain the hotel maid with?

I don’t find ugly liars attractive, but I seem to be in the minority. Last week, before the shocking truth exploded, I wrote on PFC that Anthony Weiner couldn’t have e-mailed his cock-bulge photo to a 22-year-old woman because he’s not that dumb. What I thought, but didn’t write was, “Who the fuck wants to see Anthony Weiner’s dick, anyway?”

Michele Bachmann Has A Big Dick

BAKER STREET

by Eric J Baker

Sarah Palin for President!

That’s the outlandish claim our own James Killough made on this very blog just a few days ago. As a man who is deeply concerned for America’s future and its position in the new global economy, I find his viewpoint disturbing and irresponsible at best, and I hope to restore rational thinking to these pages immediately. That’s why I’m endorsing Michele Bachmann.

This image of "Harry Potter" star Daniel Radcliff naked hanging out with a horse, which is distinct from being hung like a horse, is completely gratuitous and bears no relationship to this article.

My reasons are twofold. First, I want to top Killough when it comes to showing poor judgment. We’re competitive in that way. Second, my grandmother used to say, “Fortune favors the bold, Eric.” I wasn’t listening because her dentures kept falling out (which is upsetting and confusing to a four-year-old child), but I’ve since learned what she meant: People who take risks are successful. And what’s riskier than electing a raving lunatic madwoman president?

Better Sex Through Duran Duran

BAKER STREET

By Eric J Baker

People say men only think about one thing. Getting laid. This is a common fallacy. Men think about two other things as well:

1. The times we already got laid (go us!).

2. The times we could have gotten laid but blew it.

The second one is the worst. Those are the times Charles Dickens was talking about, opposite the best times (see number 1, above). All men have at least one of those bad times to look back on with regret.

Given recent surges to the PFC blog when shirtless men are the lead picture, we have regrettably had to post one of someone named Eric Dane in place of Simon Le Bon, who went from twig thin to porky in no time flat. We apologize to Baker for gaying him, but he is in a minority.

Like when Deidre, for example, the girl you fancied at the cutlery store across from your accounting office, came to tell you she just broke up with her boyfriend Ted and wanted to do something crazy. That very night. Instead of asking, “What time to you get off work,” you gave her a business card for the suicide prevention hotline. You wondered why she didn’t visit you anymore.