Might basically wear this to the bar.

Not his head, but the rest.

pic via here

SCCL Blame-storm: Life is so real, you guys

Life is just so real sometimes. Like, sometimes you have something, and about 3.2 secs laters you just don't have it anymore, and there's nothing you can do about it. I think they call this 'real shit.' Sometimes you want to run away from the obvious, right? Maybe you're all happy about something, and it starts to suck, but you get used to it sucking, so instead of getting rid of it, you stick around and suffer with it, even though you 'wanna die sometimes'. They call it comfortable depression. I read about it on Twitterfall.

It's cool how you have to change the way you do things. Like, sometimes you try to get to the heart of closet case culture, in America, then you think you've gotten to the marrow and everything, and so you have to start basically making fun of Jake Gyllenhall in hopes of shaming him. Do I really think he's a clozzy? Maybe. But only because Reese Withsponianz is probs a lez. Don't sue me, y'all. It's just Sunday. Just trying to make it out alive. Just trying to decide if I should pay to see Watchmen or not. I hate spoilers is all. Gotta see it before the blogsphere blowhards it. Don't want to have to hurt sometone, or threaten violence.

Anyway, maybe there should be a big clozzy party? You think if I threw one, closetcases would really show up, or would it just be queenie twinks, who are in high school? Whatever, all I know is that I've seen the movie Step Up 2 tha Streets Y'all like 4 times already, and I don't even feel bad about it. Can I tell you a secret? I'm basically in love with the cast. Does that mean my life is probably empty? 

I blame the recession. I blame Barrack Obama. I blame my parents. I blame the Pope. I blame Polytheism. I blame HRO. I blame Facebook. I blame the Cobrasnake and Gawker dot com. I blame internet porn. I blame the Jonas Brothers (miss you guys). I blame the new Yeah Yeah Yeahs album. I blame Liza Minelli.  I blame kids who used to wear NIN t-shirts. I blame Verizone Wireless. I blame Apple store employees. I blame hicks from the South. 

I blame closetcases. 

I blame me.

Call me in three years, bro.

party pix via cobrasnake

SebastiAn holding a drink, looking buzzed.

Our newest feature (SebastiAn holding a drink, looking buzzed/blazed) is inspired by the fact that before we loved Ed Banger's flagship band (you know who they are) and the de Rosnay half of that band, in a photogenics way, we liked SebastiAn. He has less songs, but we're predicting his album will be serviceable or more, which is a good thing. Without further adieu, folks:

Thank you. Have a nice day.

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Also, Brady Quinn's life never gets easier, and neither does Ronaldo's. Poor them? Chuuch!

#2: Slutty Girls

Everyone knows that gay guys are hot--that's what makes them gay! But the only thing hotter than a homosexual, is a homoseskual who isn't ready to face reality--girls love that shit. No, not perceptive girls who know something not even the dude knows, and so tries to be there for him. I'm talking about the girl who needs some dick, and in a hurry. In college, there is always that kind of party where the booze is flowing freely and the hormones are bouncing off one another like things that bounce when they hit other things that bounce also!

The Closeted love to binge drink (more on that later), but so does everyone, especially in college, or neighborhoods where you're pretending you're in college (like Brooklyn, or Florida). Being drunk at 1 oclock in the morning, after one has been imbibing all night, sets the human body at a level where it needs only the barest of essentials, followed by bed in some fashion. For many, this involves munchies of some sort--for hippies, this involves tweeb smoking, or playing the acoustic guitar until they pass out. For girls so slutty that cognizant, respectuful dudes won't touch them, this involves getting some dick from a hot dude, and since Closeted guys are gay guys, they are the nearest hot guy (this is the transitive property of trampiness). This is where the closet-case hits paydirt, for he doesn't really like girls enough to forthrightly pursue them, and he doesn't have to, because he's a smokin gay dude, so the girls flock to him, and since he needs to secure his place among his boys, as the premise requires, he must take this woman to bed, and he must do it now, bro, she's begging for it!

The slutty girl is an invaluable tool in the closeted males arsenal*, as she gives him a free hook-up, and at least one more week before someone thinks he's gay (it will never be more than one week, sorry), but only really about five minutes (or however long the sex lasts) before he remembers that he's gay, and that being gay totally sucks balls, which increases the chances of him making this chick his girlfriend, so that he can never feel gay, which is just fine by her, because what she wanted was a boyfriend anyway. She will cheat on him because that is her nature, he will tell his boys how much chicks suck, and that will be the unspoken story people tell themselves when they wonder why he looks so glum at parties. Whatever works, man...

*(Lesbians can't be "closeted," because they are kind of awesome.)