Ross Douthat butters his bread on the left side of his toast if you know what I mean

First, if you don't know, Ross Douthat is the token conservative columnist over at The Bleeding Heart O.W.L. Gazette. Second, I love his last name: is it pronounced "do that!" (happy face) or "doubt that" (blergicon)? If he were hotter, we would know the answer because he would be on Fox News every night whispering sweet nothings into Brit Hume's ear.

Speaking of sweet nothings and the reason I bring him up:


Gawker, which is just a website for Perez Hilton readers who hate themselves for reading Perez Hilton—cough—found an interview from the Harvard Crimson with Scat Scat DoThat Water Rat while he was an undergrad at Harvard. (I think undergrad journalists interviewing other undergrad journalists at the same school pretty much sums up the incestuous self-regard amongst the Harvtard set, PS.)

Now, they don't call him a big flamer outright, but the author of this piece certainly insinuates it because of the simple detail of his dorm decor: he has an Audrey Hepburn poster hanging on his wall. Next to a poster of Russel Crowe in The Gladiator. Fatty Cat DoThat is anti-gay marriage. You smelling what they're stepping in?

This reminded me of not only one but two giant homophobes I knew in college. One was a pale, skinny Jebus Crusader (are there any other kind?) and the other was not—just a normal, fratty creep desperate to prove his masculinity. But one thing they both had in common were the dozens of WWF posters lining their walls. I mean, lubbed up wrastlers: tanned men in tight spandex hugging their taut thighs, muscles bulging... Blanche—your pills.

The author's insinuation kind of made me feel bad because this weekend, while at a party in D.C. with Schmatalie, I kind of, um, "outted" someone. (Schmatalie's reply: "Jesus Christ why don't you just change your name to Liz Lemon.") After he tried to make out with me in the most uninspired way possible, I simply said, "Betch please. Are you gay?" He wasn't pissed. He just nodded and ran into the kitchen to bake shortbread cookies. (Not making this up people.) He said no one really knew. Yikes. Does life imitate blerg or is it the other way around?

Also: Gay dudes, stop. I am not Karen Walker. Stop trying to be friends with me just because I speak my mind, know every word to Lady Gaga's songs, and spank you while dancing. Where ever do you get the idea?

But the moral of my ambiguously gay story is that we should all assume Natty Nat TapThat's a giant self-hating homo. Right? But why even bring it up at all? Of right, he strings together sentences pushing ignorant ideas about gay people that millions of people read. Fair enough I suppose. There is only one way to tell for sure: