Two of the new American Gladiators, Crush and Wolf, dropped by my ever-festive cubicle to share powerful secrets of gladiating with me and Slezak. Here’s Part 1 of what’s sure to be a truly enlightening series. My fave part is when I blurt out “Gassy!” Awkward…

Update: Here’s Part 2. We talk “style,” and Wolf compliments the tropical fish spandex leggings from the ’80s (Dee Barrett Original Flavored) that I am obviously wearing in these videos.

Michael Slezak (google alert!) is not havin’ it with my awesome pants in this frame.

Okay, here’s the best one, Part 3. Ridiculous challenges include catching candy in our moths, fielding a publicist’s phone call, and flying paper airplanes.

Oh, and I totally have a crush on Crush.

DR correspondent Michael Slezak, always hip to the “zoo animals and gay” beat, found this bit of breaking news from the UK’s Sun.

Who are these zookeepers and this “onlooker” kidding? This gorilla is totally gay, and loved the big pink poster so much he wanted to take it back to his zoo cave. It’s really obvious, especially considering the way his hands lovingly cup the word “GAY,” and his assertive stance. I’m insulted.

This has been my second gorilla-related post in as many days. (Yesterday’s.)

This shit is STILL hanging on the door to our garage in Illinois. My optimistic poem makes me die inside a bit, superficially because of how thin the rainbow’s red stripe is compared to all the others. Not to mention the misplaced comma after “rainbow.” Just kidding! Sort of. I really do think these two things every time. But it’s not like I can’t handle it.

I much prefer my younger sister’s “poem,” at left. Very spoken-word. Exclamatory. WAY cooler to perform. We should totally stage a slam!

(Just tried. Will post video entitled “Slammin’ It!” or “All in the Slamily” later. Probably not.)

Oh tiny, not-yet-disillusioned young Annie… where the F is “this rainbow”? I’ll spend my life trying to find it because you said it was there. You little fucker.

Check out my Top Model 8 photo gallery on EW.com

And for an in-depth, generally amazing recap featuring screengrabs, go here.

I’m still reeling from that awful airbrushed rainbow in the background.

Since I’m 26 today, I thought I’d revert back to a seven year-old’s mindset.

That’s the official Willy Wonka font! You can also download fonts called Nintendo, Star Trek, and The Blair Witch Project. (WHY?) Yes, those are Fritos in the mac and cheese.

Too much? With the rainbows, probably. I know.

I really am still blogging, I swear! Here’s a smattering of proof.

–‘The O.C.’: “Help us!” Love, the Cohens

–The Constantine: Everybody else is wearing it, so why can’t you?

–Dancin’ Dave Price may be the next Bob Barker. Who knew I’d ever have a chance to plug the only video I’ve ever made? No one! You idiots! NOTHING HAPPENS FOR A REASON. Or is it everything happens for no reason? Not everything happens for a reason? Longer treatise on this to come.

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Center-aligned asterisks make me seem so prolific!

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This was 2006’s installment of the “Tangled Up in Blue” Halloween costume (founded in 2001 by DR correspondent “Mughan” Dunn). Definitely my worst effort to date. Blatant lack of feathers. Zero leg action. Tiny bit of yarn and a scarf. Pizza.

I realized three years into the costume that maybe 50% of the people I encounter on Halloween weekend have ever actively listened to Bob Dylan… and only 30% of those people recognize the title “Tangled Up in Blue.” My friend TG, who’s seen the costume three times now, had no idea I was ever supposed to be a song. “I thought you just liked that yarn,” he said. But he was right — that’s really the whole point of the outfit anyway. I cannot get enough of that ball of yarn. Next year, I won’t even bother with the explanation.

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IS THIS YOUR VAN?

I need it. We totally bonded.

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That’s what Jay Manuel, right, is in the process of saying to a girl on Top Model who is swingnig around while wrapped up in in a dirty net with dead fish, over a “harbor” that may or may not really be in Thailand. The jury’s still out on whether the models were magically transported (via an appropriately trippy plane with their headshots in the windows) to a foreign country or just a giant bamboo-infused set in the greater Burbank area. Anyway, I hate Jay, but appreciate his existence if only for moments like this, when he insists on fanning himself with a doozy from the box marked “ETHNIC PROPS” while verbally torturing the models.

Hmmm. Is it doozie, doozey, or doozy? It’s probably not even any of those.

It’s the details that make this joke of a show bearable and often delectable. Above, a makeup artist who (we’re to believe) impersonates Tyra in his free time came in to talk to the girls as “Ty-ra Banks (Sutan in drag).” Five seconds later, the actual Tyra (omg!) sauntered in to claim her rightful identity as “the real deal.”

I will now transcribe the conversation that followed TRD’s grand entrance. All of the following actaully happened. I’m sorry too.

The Real Deal: You know what? [dramatic pause; walks over] I am so tired of you impersonating me!

Drag Queen: [to the girls] Am I Tyra? I’m Tyra.

Danielle: [halfheartedly points at Tyra] That’s Tyra.

The Real Deal: Thank you…

Drag Queen: I’m Tyra!

The Real Deal: I am Tyra…

Drag Queen: I’m Tyra.

The Real Deal: I am Ty. Ty Ty Baby.

Drag Queen: I’m Ty.

The Real Deal: You know what? I think the only way we’re gonna settle this IS TO GO TO THAILAND!!!

Okay, here’s the part where readers who don’t care about this show but are still reading this post because I refuse to put it on a separate page…hey guys! should tune in again. Look at how excessively large the text of “thailand” is. No capitalization, no emphatic punctuation. Who was the tool in the graphics meeting saying “Let’s make it take up half the screen”? There’s no need for this. I really think the country’s name is that big simply because Tyra deigned to associate her name with it.

Now I’m going to go off on Tyra. Again. Note my wishful-thinking graphic (left). Nothing will ever come of this. She’ll remain The Real Deal, and I’ll remain the loser with a blog, who two minutes ago finished off a brand new box of Entenmann’s cookies just so they wouldn’t be around to potentially get eaten the next day. Out of sight, out of mind — a philosophy I can’t seem to apply to a bad TV show. Yeah. I think Tyra’s winning.

To spice things up, I’ll go off on her in the style of a junior-high essay contest:

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Q: What is Tyra Banks, besides pure evil? Use a form of the word “metaphor.” (300-500 words.)

A. Tyra Banks is more than Tyra Banks. Tyra Banks is a thundercloud-like persona which has metaphorically swallowed up Hollywood, the “modeling world,” and recently an abundance of bon-bons. Having digested and converted these various realities into something more up her omnipotent alley, the cloud squirts out small Tyra-shaped pellets every seven days. Just like rain.

Tyra’s shit don’t stink, so we get access to it. The pellets are the weekly episodes, which supposedly have to do with a modeling contest and the girls involved with that. Ha! People can be so naive.

It’s actually all a mind game. The entire enterprise is about Tyra. There is no freaking way that makeup guy really dresses up in drag like Tyra Banks for fun. It just wouldn’t happen in a universe other than the one Tyra Banks concocted herself. No one cares about Tyra Banks except Tyra Banks and little girls from the hood who want to be on TV. But it’s mostly Tyra. She’s larger than life, you see. She even has her own magazine, called “Bankable.” Get it? “Banks.”

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I sure hope I win! Also Merry Christmas.

I’m seeing Stick It! as soon as possible.

This might be the greatest thing I’ve ever composed. And it doesn’t even involve writing. I am foraying into different mediums. I’m a MEDIUM HOPPER! The project involves the “Dance Friday” segment on the CBS Morning News in NYC. If you’re as ridiculous as me, it should keep you entertained for at least a few hours. Or maybe 3:57. This is an educated guess.

PLEASE be patient while it loads. I promise it’s worth it!

Apologies in advance for horrible digital-camera image quality.

It kind of annoys me when people I know say, “Oh, maybe I’ll go out for one drink.” The main reason I don’t like this is because they’re acting like they’re doing me (or whomever) a favor by going that extra mile to have that drink with us. Hey, great. Glad to have you. Idiot.

The other reason is the obvious one: People who say they’ll have one drink are lying. Seriously, why even bother? It’s so unnecessary.

I’m well aware that it’s not a huge deal that the people are lying (they know they are); therefore I don’t see it as a very big deal that it bothers me so much and that I’m bothering to complain about it. As a general note, I wouldn’t have to rag on people at all if they weren’t such morons all the time.

It would just be so much easier to not say anything. Either say “Sure, I’ll go to the bar with you.” or just shut the fuck up and either come or not. Thanks.

Whew! That was scary and mean. You know what that means: It’s definitely time to check out what’s on Channel 803!

Yay! Who doesn’t love Homo Zapping? Show of hands.

Now get off my street.

Another eventful time at Rose’s Turn.

Zach and I display our $2 street-bought gay gear. Yay Pride!

Michael Dionne gave us free shots! We love Michael Dionne!

This is Guillaume, from France. He thought we wouldn’t get it, but we do. It’s William in French. Go Guillaume!

Alex belts it out. Summertime. You go, grrrrrl.

Michael Dionne is under the sea. We love him and his funky props.

Zach just got hit on by two 50-year-olds. Hooray for Rose’s Turn!