Gossip Gay here—with your latest and greatest in West Hollywood-adjacent trash. The weather's getting hot, but the dish is even hotter. So let's get right down to it.
We all know what a ButterFace is, right? Well, for the not-so-superficial out there, allow us to define. A ButterFace is a boy/man/bear/twink/dude with the body of a Greek God and the face of...Melissa Rivers. Often used in sentences like: "Omfg! Every time I go to third base with that Micky's 12-packed-ab stripper, I've got to put a Trader Joe's reusable travel sack on his head because he's such a ButterFace."
Well, Gossip Gay has taken said backhanded compliment and coined the ying/yang ghetto slang: ButterBod. A ButterBod is a boy/man/bear/twink/dude with the face of Ryan Kwanten and the body of...Bruce Vilanch. Often used in sentences like: "Omfg! Every time I dry hump that SuperCuts hair model, I've got to wrap a Snuggie around his untaught torso because he's such a ButterBod."
Now, there's nothing wrong with being a Butter; after all, one man's trash is another man's last call pity-fuck, right? But what is dastardly despicable is when a Butter boy attempts to I-Can't-Believe-It's-Not-Butter-it-up. Yes, folks, Gossip Gay is sad to report that one of the hottest, hump-worthy men at the 24 Hour West Hollywood is a total Butter in hot jock's clothing.
So tells us a fellow workout-er: "You know <insert ButterBod's name here>? Well, finally, I work up the courage and ask him to Koo Koo Roo after we're done lifting...One thing leads to another and we go back to his studio. We're totally making out hardcore, so I take off my shirt and he won't take his off. He asks to go to the bathroom, but I totally think he's being playful and I like rip his shirt off...and he's wearing a girdle! No joke! Like tights around his waist that are supposed to suck everything in. He doesn't have a six-pack! He doesn't even have a two-pack! He's like—almost kind of fat!"
Now Gossip Gay isn't judging. (OK, maybe just a little.) We've all had our yo-yo years—like our daily Corner Bakery double bacon-ed panini lunch breaks in 2009. But what concerns us is the fact that ButterBod feels he needs to wear sucking-it-all-in stockings around his midsection.
ButterBod, we've often watched you from afar. You've got million dollar pearly whites, enough adorableness to make our cold dead heart skip a beat and a bubble butt that a Kardashian would kill for. Love yourself a little more and chuck that girdle. Because you're amazing—just the way you are!
Catching Up Over Ketchup
Call us slutty, but we don't have a "type." We like them big, buff and bearish, but we also love them small, submissive and Timberlake sexy-backed. Yes, when it comes to horizontal handshaking it, Gossip Gay is an equal opportunity employer. But if the boy can sing, our tone-deaf heart truly skips a beat. The gift of God-given musicality is music to our loins; we just love it!
So, we were mucho excited when we had a catch-up lunch with one of our favorite spank-bank fantasy singer friends last week; he was in town from NYC and we were committed to showing him some L.A. TLC. Oh, how we LOL-ed, OMFG-ed and even ROFL-ed a bit; but when our meal arrived, our ever-engorging appetite halted dead in its hungry tracks when the abovementioned singer produced a bottle of sugar-free ketchup from his man purse followed by a baggie full of low-carb tortillas...followed by a throw-away tupperware loaded with a low-fat seven-layer Mexican salad...followed by an assortment of little packets of low-fat cheese-substitute spreads. (We're not kidding!)
It was all we could do but stare at him not-so-longingly with queryingly queer eyes, to which he said: "Oh, I'm just trying to eat a little healthier. We all love going out to eat, but do you know how many calories are in the side dishes? It's just my little way of cheating and staying fit, you know?
Hmmm, staying fit, you say, Mr. Muzak? We support your attempts to keep your waist in the below-30-inch demographic; however, our suggestion is to rethink the nacho appetizer and fajita main course with a "small side" of french fries. You have the voice of an angel and the moves like Jagger, yes; but you also carry around a man purse full of imitation-Mexican munchies. And that's just one woodwind that we can't tongue!
OMFG of the Week
Every week, something happens that causes our high-cheek-boned jaw to spiral to the floor—and scream "Oh My Friggin' Gay!" This week's came when we realized that our favorite super hottie at the Big Gay WeHo Starbucks is more than a pretty face. He's studying to be a doctor!
Yes, this hunk of burning bang-able boy sits in a tight T-shirt, almost-shorty shorts and flip-flops all afternoon pouring over the same rather large book. Now we—while gawking at him creepily—always thought he was reading some sort of Dummy's Guide to RentBoi-ing—or at least looking at the pretty pictures.
But as we are sitting next to him now while writing this (right at this very divine moment), we have espied a cardiac textbook in his hands, and something in us has stirred. (More accurately, something in our pants has stirred. Even more accurately, something in our pants pocket has stirred.) It is our wallet screaming: "Gurl's gonna be rich one day! Intabate (or another kind-of-bate) that doctor—stat!"
[Update: We've starred at him creepily for over an hour now. He has yet to return our queer eye. We'll give it an hour, and then we'll feign some sort of epileptic fit, resulting in a need for mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.]
Overheard (and over-witnessed) last Thursday. Happy hour at the Abbey. An older Daddy (average in appearance) and a younger boy toy (hot enough to be renting by the hour—and quite obviously doing so) sitting across from one another.
The bill is dropped. Both stare at it. Boy Toy makes no attempt to pick it up. Long beat and then...
Daddy: I didn't know I was supposed to be getting drinks too.
Boy Toy: If you think I'm doing this sober, you're an idiot.
Daddy: That's offensive. You have to be drunk to hang out with me?
Boy Toy: No, I've got to need rent money to hang out with you.
Long beat. Daddy picks up the bill and slides his credit card inside. Oh, the things us Daddies do for the opportunity to slide inside.
P.S.: If you've got dish, we wanna hear it! So drop us your dirty little secrets at Queersay@hotmail.com. And don't worry—we never give up our deep throats!