A friend sent along a link to these Hardees ads for biscuit holes. I think he sent it to me because I’m supposed to think the ads are terrible, but I thought they were kind of hilarious. Of course, I also like to shout, “Don’t put on that ring, Scroto Baggins!” when I watch The Lord of the Rings, so maybe you should hate these ads, too. But who can resist a chuckle when the man on the street suggests “creamy sweet holes?” Are they sure this wasn’t shot at a gay pride event?

Am I the only one who thinks they should have hired Madonna to gyrate around while eating a biscuit hole and singing, “My sugar is raw!”? I totally could have seen biscuit holes as the official sponsor of the Sticky and Sweet tour. It’s unfortunate that they were just a little too late on the scene.

Somewhere in Tina Turner’s attic, an oil painting of her must look like the crypt keeper because, as this month’s Ebony cover demonstrates, this woman does not age.

Many people have noted that it’s ironic and a bit sad that Michael Jackson’s passing should resolve all of his estate’s financial problems and then some. I, for one, find it comforting to know his children can now afford the llamas and surgical masks they so desperately need.

I loved Michael just as much as those kids he saved in the 1990 Sega Genesis classic Moonwalker (see below). But how long do we have to wait for some autopsy photos to be released? And when is someone going to point out that Michael’s parents are the last people who should be raising children?

Lastly, I have to give it up yet again to Robyn. Whenever I hear “The Girl and the Robot,” I suddenly want to go to the gym, which is no small feat. Take note, Lady Gaga. This is how it’s done.

I spend a lot of time obsessing about what to do with my life and whining about other bourgeois problems common to over-educated white people with no real problems to fret about. So, I thought I’d take a minute to post a few miracles that I’m thankful for.

1) The train brought me home today on time and unharmed, just as it has done roughly 700 times in the past three years.

2) When I turn on the faucet, clean water comes out. (I often wonder how it got here, what kind of massive pump is required to push it all the way up to my sink or shower, and where it goes when it disappears down the drain. Indoor plumbing is truly a modern marvel.)

3) Someone made dinner for me tonight and it was ready the minute I walked in the door.

4) Everyone (and every pet) I love is healthy.

5) I have a job.

6) I don’t dread going to work every day.

7) If I lost my job, I’d be ok.

8) There’s a huge tree outside my living room windows. It blocks the sun in the summer, lets in the sun in the winter, and makes me feel like I live in a treehouse.

9) My parents know that I’m gay and they love me anyway. They even love my boyfriend.

10) My upper wisdom teeth continue to honor the agreement I made with them as a teenager—they leave me alone, I leave them alone. I keep waiting for them to burst through my gums like some alien spawn ripping through Sigourney Weaver’s sternum, but so far, so good.

Does anyone know if there’s a site out there that lets people maintain a list of things they’re grateful for and share them with others? I know just asking this question could cause the National Cynicism Association to revoke my membership card. Or perhaps there’s some kind of facebook application available? If not, would anyone actually want to read stuff that other people are thankful for? Or do sites like this only succeed when they’re based on horrible secrets and schadenfreude?

This was on Dlisted a while back and I thought it was worth a re-post here. Enjoy!

I wish Dolly had been the commencement speaker at my graduation. I could listen to her talk about her own accomplishments and her boobs for hours.

After watching this interview with Lady GaGa, I couldn’t decide if she was the world’s biggest bitch or if she just hated this interviewer. Then I watched her performance on Ellen and the short-but-sweet follow-up interview (shown below) and all was forgiven.

With only one album under her belt, it’s certainly presumptuous to propose that Lady GaGa could become the biggest pop star of her generation. But if not Lady GaGa, then who? Beyoncé is certainly a front runner (despite the fact that she walks a fine line between pop and R&B). After stealing the life force from several former Destiny’s Child members, B has proven she’s ruthless and driven. Her performances are always incredibly polished and she’s definitely a fashion icon (especially when she’s not forced to wear any of her mom’s bedazzled creations.) Aside from Beyoncé, it seems clear that Britney is the only other contender in the battle to be the new Madonna. But in this comparison, I think Lady GaGa already wins hands down.

When Britney was at her best, the comparisons to Madonna were relentless and were even validated by Madonna herself. But I always thought this comparison sold Madonna short. Madonna’s no rocket scientist, but she seemed aware from day one that she was building an empire—that she would be an artist whose legacy would be dissected and analyzed by media studies majors on college campuses across the country. While Britney finds herself trapped and choked by one media firestorm after another, Madonna was a pyro who lit the match and doused her scandals in gasoline.

Nobody needed to strap Madonna to a gurney or take her kids away because she couldn’t handle the pressure. When Hollywood tried to chew her up and spit her out, Madonna bit back. She burned crosses or made a documentary or cursed on David Letterman or screwed Sean Penn or Warren Beatty or Dennis Rodman or produced a book of erotic photos. When critics panned her as an actress, she took on Evita. When people said she had run out of ideas, she got some cornrows and rapped in a patent-leather catsuit, collaborated with Bjork, took Electronica mainstream, and made cowboy hats a must-have club-hopping accessory.

Lady GaGa mentions Andy Warhol in a lot of her interviews and it’s clear that she’s on a mission to follow in his footsteps and blur the lines between fine art and pop culture. The tricky part is that by revealing such an ambitious plan to the world, it’s very hard to seem humble. The safer bet may be to follow the more widely approved approach to global domination—by covering it in the candy coating of false modesty that has served Beyoncé so well. Of course, this is probably what Diana Ross had in mind, and nobody is taking “Diana Ross 101″ at Yale.