NYSocBoy's Beefcake and Bonding

This is the physique of a pizza chef.

Richard Brose may not be a household name today, but he was a regular guest star on 1980s tv. Whenever a casting agent needed a man-mountain, especially for a Sylvester Stallone parody, , they would "call Richie."

He was working as a bodyguard at Caesar's Palace in Las Vegas when Arnold Schwarzenegger's Conan the Barbarian became a mega-hit (1983), and Universal Studios opened an "Adventures of Conan" attraction. They needed a Conan. Richie auditioned, got the job, and kept it for the next ten years.

In 1984, Pee-Wee's Big Adventure was casting a scene where Pee-Wee Herman rides his bike through a movie studio, disrupting a lot of movies being filmed. Richie got the part of "Tarzan."

For the next 6 years, he often drove down from the San Fernando Valley for guest spots on tv:

He played a wrestler on Night Court (1985).

"Chesty" on Trapper John, M.D.(1985).

"Rambo Type Man" on Misfits of Science (1985).

"Hambro" on Hunter (1986).

A Hunk on Perfect Strangers(1986).

A fitness trainer on Charles in Charge (1988).

But his real love was cooking. He opened a restaurant in Antelope Valley, and in the 1990s he relocated to Vancouver, Washington to open New York Richie's. He now owns several pizza places in the northwest, but he returns to show biz from time to time. He played Batman at Magic Mountain, and in 2006 he became an associate producer of Being Earnest, an adaption of the gay-subtext classic.

No indication of whether he's gay or not, but not a lot of gay men flee Los Angeles for the haven of LaGrande, Oregon.

When I was studying Spanish literature at Augustana College, I never, in a million years, would have guessed that Federico Garcia Lorca (1898-1936) was gay (or for that matter his boyfriend, surrealist painter Salvador Dali).

How could I guess when his three most famous plays are:

1. Yerma (1934), a tragedy about a woman who can't have children.

2. Bodas de Sangre (Blood Wedding, 1933), about two men who kill each other over the love of a woman.

3. La Casa de Bernarda Alba (The House of Bernarda Alba, 1945), about a woman who can't stand her daughter's lack of chastity. This one has no male characters at all.

And when his poetry is all about heterosexual longing:

"The Lizard is Crying": boy and girl lizards are crying because they lost their wedding rings.

"Two Mariners on the Beach": one dreams of "the golden breasts of Cuban girls."

"Thamar and Amon": he "was gazing at the round and low moon, and he saw in the moon his sister's very firm breasts."

(Painting of Lorca as St. Sebastian is by Alice Wellinger)

"Ode to Walt Whitman" is even homophobic.

Lorca decries the "pansies" (maricas) of New York, horrible perversions of the spiritual love described by Walt Whitman. They don't just gaze longingly at each other, they actually touch each other! Disgusting!

Pansies of the cities, of tumescent flesh and unclean mind,
Mud of dreams, harpies, unsleeping enemies of Love
Pansies of the world, murderers of doves!
Let there be no quarter!
Death flows from your eyes!

Wow.

But he was definitely gay.

For a long time his family and scholars alike tried to closet him, but after his overtly homoerotic Sonnets of Dark Love was finally published in 1983, many studies have appeared analyzing the gay subtexts in his poems and plays, and revealing a tortured gay life in conservative Spanish society. Even his murder by Nationalists during the Spanish Civil War has been interpreted as less a political assassination than a homophobic hate crime.

Javier Beltran played a non-heterosexualized version of the poet (with Robert Pattinson as Dali) in Little Ashes (2008).

Ode to Walt Whitman? Maybe a case of "protesting too much."

See also: Rimbaud: A Season in Hell

The Many Loves of Dobie Gillis (1959-63) was about a teenager (Dwayne Hickman of Love That Bob) so immensely girl-crazy that in the first season he announced it in every episode: "I'm Dobie Gillis, and I like girls. What am I saying? I love girls! Beautiful, gorgeous, soft, round, creamy girls!"

Other people in Dobie's world are peculiarly low on straightness, however. His proto-hippie buddy Maynard G. Krebs (Bob Denver, right, later of Gilligan's Island) shrinks away from the word "girl" as timidly as the word "work," both symbols of heterosexist destiny.

He expressed heterosexual interest only a few times, and usually in the first season. In "The Gigolo," he is sought after for dates because his lack of heterosexual interest makes him safe.

Scripts sometimes "explain" this lack of interest as shyness, but in his autobiography, Bob Denver insists that Maynard "isn't afraid of girls; he just wants to pursue his own life."

Tomboy Zelda Gilroy (Sheila Kuehl) has a crush on Dobie, but withdraws in horror when he pretends to acquiesce; maybe she is using the crush to avoid any realistic attachments to boys (in 1994, Sheila Kuehl became the first open lesbian elected to the California state legislature).

Even the foppish Milton Armitage (Warren Beatty) seems uninterested in girls for their own sake, merely using them as tools to one-up Dobie. After the first season, Warren Beatty left the series, replaced by the gay-coded cousin Chatsworth (Steve Franken), a mother-obsessed milquetoast who doesn't even bother with the pretense of liking girls. Instead, he openly competes with Maynard for Dobie's affection.

Even the intensity of Dobie's attraction to girls is open to dispute. The "I love girls" speech was dropped after the first season, and most episodes were about groups of friends rather than crushes and dates.

In one episode, Dobie is even suspected of being gay. He dates a girl who belongs to a family of trapeze artists (Francis X. Bushman, Jud Beaumont, Tip McClure), who wander around the house in togas, discussing the benefits of "the Greek way," an obvious double entendre.

To demonstrate their enthusiasm for Dobie, they mob him, rip his clothes off, and give him a toga of his own. Dobie's Dad arrives, mistakes the togas for dresses, and concludes that Dobie has "gone funny" in a household of drag queens.

Dwayne Hickman went on to star in the buddy-bonding Cat Ballou, with Michael Callan.

When we were living in New York, Yuri and I sometimes took the train to Old Westbury, where Ravi and his partner Claude held monthly "bear parties."

Ravi was in his 40s, South Asian, with a very hairy chest. I never found out what he did for a living.

Claude was in his 20s, from England, a biology student at Adelphi University, slim and smooth, and enormous beneath the belt, easily a Mortadella+.

They lived in a big house, square, white, and ultra-modern, with a pool, a hot tub, and a game room.

They charged $5 for admission, to cover the cost of the snacks, condoms, lube, and towels.

But Ravi and Claude never participated in the activities. They stayed in the living room, keeping track of the guests, taking the money, making sure no one stole anything. Ravi sometimes went back to address a problem, but Claude never left. It was as if he was on a leash.

Why host a "bear party" if you're not going to participate?

And there was another problem: Yuri was interested in Claude. He usually liked his guys a little older and more muscular, but the Mortadella+ was exceptional.

Besides, they had a lot in common. They were both international students. They were both newly out (Claude had only dated two guys before moving in with Ravi). They liked the same movies and tv shows, like the Britcom Mr. Bean.

Yuri took to spending most of his time in the living room, talking to Claude.

"Well, if they're holding bear parties, they must have an open relationship," I said. "Why don't you ask him out?"

The uncensored story, with nude photos, is on Tales of West Hollywood.

When I was a kid, our church forbade movies, theater, carnivals, circuses -- basically anything that had a plot. And my working-class parents disapproved of anything "long hair." So ballet and opera were completely alien.

Except at Christmastime, when we would go to see "The Nutcracker" at Centennial Hall on the Augustana College campus, or at Rock Island High School, or both. One year the Youth Symphony participated, so I got to be in the orchestra pit for eight full performances.

The plot is heterosexist -- Elsa receives a nutcracker shaped like a toy soldier for Christmas. He comes to life, fights an army of mice, and reveals that he is actually a prince. They return to his kingdom, the Land of Sweets, where he makes Elsa his queen.

But who pays attention to the plot? No matter what people tell you, they go to ballets for one reason, and one reason only: to celebrate male or female beauty. Dances in form-fitting tights, swaying and twisting, making every curve and muscle visible.

No other art, not even bodybuilding, displays the male physique so openly and extensively. You don't just get a glimpse or a hint -- everything is out there, through the entire performance.

No wonder every gay kid in town, even those who were otherwise obsessed with sports, couldn't wait for Christmas.

The only ballet dancer I knew by name was Rudolf Nureyev (1938-1993), who danced in a tv version of The Nutcracker in 1968. I also saw him on The Muppet Show in 1977, and in Romeo and Juliet in 1982 (which also has a heterosexist plot, but who cares?)

I didn't know at the time that he was gay in real life, and dated a number of celebrities, including Raymundo de Larrain and Tab Hunter (left), plus his long-time lover Erik Bruhn. I responded to his passion, his obvious joy at being an object of desire, and his superlative physique.

He was even able to invest The Nutcracker with gay symbolism, transforming the Prince into an outcast, a wooden soldier who longs to be a "real boy."

I discovered Mikhail Baryshnikov (1948-) in a 1977 tv version of The Nutcracker, and later in Carmen (1980) and Don Quixote (1984). He was more muscular than Nureyev, and an accomplished actor, but his aggressively heterosexual stance bothered me, as if he wanted to "redeem" ballet from its gay reputation.

Good luck. Vaslav Nijinsky (1890-1950), the first ballet superstar, was gay, and caused a scandal with his erotic movements (the audience rioted at the premiere of The Rites of Spring).

So was Tchaikovsky, who scored The Nutcracker and Swan Lake.

See also: Erik Bruhn, Closeted Ballet Great.

H.R. Pufnstuf (1969-70) was by far the most popular of the Krofft Saturday morning tv shows about boys trapped far from home (others included Lidsville and Land of the Lost). Today I can’t watch H. R. Pufnstuf anymore. The lightning-quick takes, psychedelic colors, lame wise-cracks, and aggressive laugh-track are annoying. But in 1969 I looked forward to it all week.

In the opening segment, a cute, androgynous sixteen-year old named Jimmy (Jack Wild, fomerly of Oliver), with a Beatles moptop and a cowboy hat, is prancing through a bucolic mountain countryside, playing with his golden flute (it is not really gold in color but dark bronze, thicker and blockier than real flutes, and extremely phallic later, as it peeps out of Jimmy’s pocket).

A “kooky old witch” named Witchiepoo (Billie Hayes), passing by on her supersonic Vroom-Broom, spies Jimmy and decides that her drafty old castle could use his youthful vitality – and his ten inches of flute. She instructs a sentient boat to lure Jimmy aboard with the promise of a pleasant journey to Living Island. But when the trip commences, the boat develops arms and claws to hold Jimmy securely in place, while the witch laughs maniacally, and:

The sky grew dark
The sea grew rough
And the boat sailed on and on and on and on

In a scene that is still frightening today, Jimmy manages to free himself from the grasping claws, and dives into the dark, choppy sea. He crawls onto a distant, desolate beach and collapses, half-drowned and exhausted. Then – somewhat too late – help arrives. A tall green-and-yellow dragon named H. R. Pufnstuf resuscitates Jimmy, moves him into his cave, and dresses him in a garish Fab Four outfit (one wonders where the dragon got human clothes. Have there been other Jimmies, lost boys washing up on the beach over and over forever?). Then Pufnstuf introduces Jimmy to the citizens of Living Island, various animals, plants, and inanimate objects, all sentient and wise-cracking, almost all male.

Since Jimmy is well protected, Witchiepoo turns her attention to the flute, now sentient and named Freddy. Most episodes involve Witchiepoo’s grandiose, impractical schemes to steal Freddy, or, when she succeeds, Jimmy and company’s equally grandiose, impractical schemes to retrieve him. Jimmy also mounts a few half-hearted escape attempts, but it is obvious that he has no real desire to leave Living Island. Witchiepoo is more cranky than evil, promising excitement more than threat, and Jimmy is having the time of his life, dancing, singing, putting on plays with a group of caring, attentive friends who tolerate all of his many gender transgressions.

The feature film Pufnstuf appeared in July 1970. In a new back story, Jimmy has recently moved from England to a resort town (Big Bear Lake, California), where he plays the flute in the school band (rather a fairy choice of instrument, I thought). During a practice session on the front lawn of a gaudy, baroque junior high school, the other boys insult him, mock his accent, and finally trip him, and he knocks over some music stands. True to junior high form, the teacher concludes that Jimmy is the troublemaker, and kicks him out of the band. Jimmy runs away, through a town of small brown cabins and autumn-orange trees that, for all its beauty, promises nothing but brutality and viciousness. Eventually he stops by the lake to rest. Suddenly his flute grows longer and thicker, changes from gold to brown, and starts to move of its own accord – an awkward moment for Jimmy to enter puberty!

Witchiepoo happens to be flying overhead, and the plot proceeds as in the series. But now she has a homosocial motive for her designs. She believes that Freddy the Flute will be a perfect trinket to impress the other witches, especially Witch Hazel (Mama Cass Eliot of The Mamas and the Papas), with whom she has a sort of Auntie Mame/Vera Charles rivalry.

All of the many witches we meet in the film are female, and all are aggressively heterosexual. Witchiepoo tries to sneak into Pufnstuf’s cave by flirting with him as vampish dance instructor Benita Bugaloo, and when she telephones Witch Hazel, their conversation consists mostly of gossip about which female witch is dating which man. The film makes Living Island, conversely, a veritable Fire Island, inhabited by ten men (or male beings) and only two women, Pufnstuf’s sister and Judy the Frog (a parody of gay icon Judy Garland).

None of them is married or involved with the other sex, nor do any of the male residents “boing” with lust over Witchiepoo in her bodacious disguise. It was not unusual for children’s films a generation ago to omit heterosexual content, but quite unusual to place it squarely in the laps of evil witches while infusing the hero and his friends with a blatantly gay sensibility.

Certainly Jimmy’s cherubic cuteness and sexy Cockney accent made the show a must-see for me in 1969, but there is more. The crux of the action is a competition between the female Witchiepoo and the male Pufnstuf over control of Jimmy’s phallus ( Freddy the Flute), and it ends unequivocally in the male camp. Witchiepoo lives in a dark, sinister castle dug-through with dungeons and pits, and Pufnstuf in a gaudy psychedelic Arcadia, with living trees and flowers. Witchiepoo barks out orders to cowering servants, Pufnstuf offers advice to dear friends. Who would disagree that the Dragon is far superior to the Witch?

I first saw the Marx Brothers at a Film Festival during the Summer of 1978 (along with Animal House, Grease, and The Rocky Horror Picture Show: it was a memorable summer). The anarchic comedians came from Vaudeville, moved onto Broadway, and started spinning their bits into movie comedy with Cocoanuts (1929). Three of the greatest comedies of all time followed: Animal Crackers (1930), Monkey Business (1931), and Horse Feathers (1933). Then they made some movies that were merely great.

Zeppo, the youngest, played the "handsome leading man" for a treacly romantic plot.

Groucho engaged in long cons, often involving wooing wealthy dowager Margaret Dumont.

Chico played an Italian-accented musical virtuoso planning cons of his own.

Harpo played his mute, addled sidekick, who liked to chase women while honking a horn. He also handed random people his leg.

Wait -- Zeppo falling in love with a woman, Groucho wooing a woman, Harpo chasing women. Granted, the wordplay came fast and furious, pretensions were deflated, social institutions were mocked -- but wasn't it still heterosexist?

Not at all. You can queer a Marx Brothers movie as easily as Making Love.

1. You don't expect a lot of beefcake in movies from the 1930s, but there was some. Mostly from incidental players.

In this still from Duck Soup, Zeppo looks pleasantly muscular for the 1930s, and Chico positively buffed.

2. In the heart of the Pansy Craze, there are no pansy jokes No screaming queens, no effeminate waiters, none of the overt homophobia evident in other movie comedies of the era.

3. Zeppo's hetero-romance is ludicrously over-the-top; it is one of the social institutions that the Marx Brothers are mocking.

Groucho woos Margaret Dumont for her money; elsewhere, his jabs and hints hit men and women both. "Tell me, what do you think of the traffic problem? What do you think of the marriage problem? What do you think of at night when you go to bed, you beast!"

Harpo hands his leg to women and men both.

Chico doesn't seem particularly interested in women.

All of the Marx Brothers demonstrate an easygoing nonchalance about same-sex desire that is remarkable for the period.

4. In real life, Groucho was "straight but curved around the edges." Near the end of his life, the 80-year old Groucho fell in love with 30-year old Bud Cort -- who starred in Harold and Maude (1971), about a romance between a teenage boy and an elderly woman. Bud moved into Groucho's mansion, where the question of whether they became physically intimate is nobody else's business. "I loved him, and he loved me. He was my fairy godfather."

This is the story of my date with Michael J. Fox, actor, director, advocate for Parkinson's Disease, and all around nice guy.

Wednesday, July 3rd, 1985: I arrive in Los Angeles and stay with my old high school friend Tom and his parents in Van Nuys.

Friday, July 5th: I am sitting in the human resources department at Paramount Studios, waiting to interview for a job as an administrative assistant, when Marcus comes in to drop something off. He's my age, African-American, with very light skin, freckles, and a hairy chest. I get his phone number.

Saturday, July 6th: Our date, an inside tour of Paramount, followed by cruising at the Gold Coast and dinner at the French Quarter. He came to Los Angeles to become an actor five years ago, and has been in a few things.

"Do you know anyone famous?" I ask with tourist zeal.

"Nobody really famous. I mean, some guys on tv. I know Michael J. Fox from acting class."

I'm not impressed. I've barely heard of Michael J. Fox -- he's getting some teen idol exposure for his role as Alex P. Keaton, conservative son of ex-hippie parents on the sitcom Family Ties. But I've only seen the show a few times.

Marcus plans to stay celibate until there's a cure for AIDS, so no more dating. But we stay friends.

Wednesday, July 10th: I start working at Muscle and Fitness, two days a week as a "contributing editor," aka gopher. On my first day, I meet Ivo, a stringer for the magazine, about 30 years old, a Bulgarian bodybuilder, with short brown hair, a boyish open face, massive shoulders, and slates for abs.

Saturday, July 13th: My first date with Ivo. I'm curious about Back to the Future, the new time travel comedy starring Michael J. Fox.

"No way, man!" Ivo exclaims. "That Mike Fox thinks he's a big deal, but he's terrible in bed. They should call him Princess Teeny-Tiny!"

Weird coincidence! I think. I've been in town a week, and already I've met two people who know Michael J. Fox, and one of them is his ex-lover!

Sunday, July 14th: I have lunch with Marcus and tell him about my date.

"Strange," he says. "I'm completely out to Mike, and he's never said anything about being gay. Sounds like Ivo is one of these celebrity name-droppers who claims to have been with everyone from Harrison Ford to Arnold Schwarzeneggar."

"But he wasn't bragging. He got upset. He said Michael was bad in bed and should be called Princess Teeny-Tiny."

Marcus laughed. "Well, I don't have any information on that. But tell you what -- Mike is in London right now. When he gets back, we'll all get together, and you can ask him yourself."

Ask Michael J. Fox about his size? I don't think so! But it would be fun to meet him.

I date Ivo three or four more times, until his crazy, obsessive behavior drives me away.

Saturday, August 3rd: I finally see Back to the Future. I'm not impressed with the heteronormative plotline.

Saturday, August 10th: The promised date.

Marcus picks me up and drives me to a small, bare-brick cafe on Melrose. We are just ordering drinks when Michael comes in, wearing a white shirt, buttoned down to reveal a soft smooth chest, tight bulging jeans, and sunglasses.

He's my age, short, slim, androgynous The feminine teen idol type.

He hugs Marcus and reaches out to shake my hand, then says "What the hell" and hugs me, too.

I feel a definite something. So much for the Ivo's "Princess Teeny-Tiny" claim.

"So, are you guys together?" Michael asks as he scans the menu.

"No, we're friends. We dated once, but you know some guys can't handle celibacy."

"Well, who can blame them? You got the goods, Marcus!" He nudges Marcus affectionately.

This is the 1980s, an era of rampant homophobia. Michael is either gay or amazingly gay-positive!

"So..I was dating another guy who said he knew you. Ivo the Bulgarian bodybuilder."

"Doesn't ring a bell. But you know how it is, you get a tv show, and suddenly every guy you have ever said hello to claims to be your bosom buddy."

"Or your ex-lover," Marcus adds.

"So far I've been spared those kinds of rumors. I don't know why. I'm here having lunch with two hot guys, wouldn't you naturally assume that I'm into hot guys?" He wraps his arm around my shoulders. "What do you think, Boomer? Want to be on the front page of the National Enquirer tomorrow morning?"

Is Michael cruising me? "Um...only if you bring the condoms."

"Wouldn't you know it!" he exclaims with a grin. "All the hot guys are bottoms! I'd better stick to girls."

The conversation goes on to other topics. We finish our lunch, and Michael pays and leaves.

"Was Michael cruising me?" I ask on the way home.

"Oh, no, that's just his way. He makes everybody feel like he's in love with them. And it works -- there's not a soul on Earth who doesn't like him."

Except for Ivo.

A few weeks later, the movie Teen Wolf comes out, with a scene in which Michael's character claims that he's "not a fag," he's a werewolf. I ask Marcus about the homophobic dialogue.

"This is Hollywood," he says with a shrug. "You do what sells."

See also: 15 Celebrity Dates, Hookups, and Sausage Sightings.

When I was little, the only nature program we had was Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom (1963-1985), with a grandfatherly host, Marlin Perkins, who didn't actually go into the field; he just narrated, and occasionally lapsed into a commercial: "Just as lions provide for their young, you need life insurance...."

Today's nature show hosts have learned that ratings depend on two things: you have to get out there, pat an elephant, shake hands with a tiger. And it's hot in the jungle. Take your shirt off! (And maybe get your crew to take their shirts off, too).

Here are the top 10 nature show hunks:

1. Troy Dann (left) of Outback Adventures (1998-99). More buffed and less heterosexist than Steve Irwin, and he added aboriginal culture to the mix.

2-3. Nick Baker and Steve Backshall (left) of Britain's long-running Really Wild Show (2004-2006).

4. Australian herpetologist Steve Irwin, The Crocodile Hunter (1997-2004). He had the annoying habit of calling female crocodiles "darlin" and referring to them as his girlfriends, but his khaki shorts left little to the imagination.

5. Mr. Greenjeans of Captain Kangaroo (1955-1984). He only played with cute domesticated animals, like bunny rabbits, but at least he had a boyfriend.

6-7. Surprisingly muscular brothers, Chris and Martin Kratt, who hung out with creatures on Kratt's Creatures (1995-96) and Zooboomafoo. They also got animated. Do a search for them on Deviant Art -- it's amazing how often they're shipped (made into romantic partners) by eager fans.

8. Boomer Corwin (left) of Going Wild with Boomer Corwin, The Boomer Corwin Experience, and so on. He strips off his shirt at the drop of a script, and is rumored to be gay, in spite of his wife and kids. Maybe because of the episode where he frolicked in Cambodia with Anderson Cooper.

9. Jim Fowler of Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom. He never showed any muscles, but we saw him occasionally in the field. And I figured that he was Marlin Perkins' boyfriend.

10. Stan Brock, man-mountain same program.

11. Dave Salmoni, a big-cat specialist who hosted Living with Tigers, Animal Face-Off, Expedition Impossible, Rogue Nature, and Into the Pride. He loves his gay fans, and often poses semi-nude for them.

Honorable mention goes to Chris Pontius and Steve-O of Wildboyz, and Mark Trail,actually a comic strip character.

For as long as anyone can remember, Sunday night on Fox has meant animated sitcoms about nuclear families:
1. A fat, dopey Dad.
2. A slim, smarter Mom
3-4. Two kids, a dopey son and a smart but plain daughter.

They vary in their expressions of hatred against gay people.

The Simpsons (1989-) is usually fine, with only a few homophobic jokes and only a few swishy stereotypes, plus two regular gay characters, Smithers and Patty (although Patty's gayness is barely alluded to).

Family Guy (1999-) oozes with homophobia, with a dozen homophobic jokes per episode, no regular gay characters, and the walk-ons always horrible stereotypes. Actually, I rarely manage to sit through an episode, even for research purposes. It's too awful.

American Dad (2005-) is somewhere in the middle, with occasional homophobic jokes and swishy stereotypes, but not enough to make it unwatchable.

Unfortunately, something else makes it unwatchable.

The nuclear family consists of:
1. Ultra-conservative Stan Smith, a CIA agent who is sometimes world-traveling assassin, sometimes office drone.
2. His wife Francine
3. Nerd Steve, age 14, who is obsessed with girls in a nod to heteronormative bias.
4. Ultra-liberal daughter Hayley, a community college Women's Studies major.
5. Klaus, a German skiier whose brain was transplanted into the body of a goldfish.
6. Roger, a classic gray alien with a sarcastic sense of humor.

The only ongoing gay characters are neighbors Greg and Terry, ultra-feminine news show anchors and domestic partners. Although swishy stereotypes with high-pitched voices who adopted a daughter as an accessory, they are a pleasantly progressive change of pace after watching the gay-baiting monstrosities of Family Guy.

They're not the problem.

Nor is Steve's hetero-horniness a problem. He has three best friends, Toshi, Barry, and Snot, who alternate in buddy-bonding and gay subtexts.

There's even some beefcake to look at.

The problem is Roger.

Originally he was just a sarcastic alien with swishy, gay-coded mannerisms. Now he's mostly heterosexual. And a monster.

He lies, swindles, manipulates, assaults, and kills with absolute impunity.

He tricks Steve into working in his meth lab by convincing him that it's Hogwarts.

When he's working as a limo driver, he gets revenge on some guys who "drive and dash" by killing them. The last one tries to escape on an airplane, so he blows it up, killing everyone aboard.

He gets a crush on Hayley, but she's in love with Jeff. So he cuts off Jeff's skin and wears the bloody mess, hoping that she'll like him now.

Granted, Stan is a professional assassin, and the other Smiths have been known to kill people from time to time, but come on -- why do they let this psycho stick around, after he's assaulted and tried to kill them multiple times?

And why would anyone think that this carnage was funny?

See also: Simpsons Beefcake

In 1971, there were no network television programs with all-African American casts. In 1976, there were six, including such hits as Good Times, Sanford and Son, and The Jeffersons. But only What's Happening!! featured teenagers (yes, two exclamation points in the title).

It began as a four-episode summer series about the exploits of Shirley (Shirley Hemphill), a sassy waitress in a poor African-American neighborhood. When the regular series began, Shirley was still present, but the focus was on the bookish high schooler Raj (Ernest L. Thompson, right), his best friend, the rotund schemer Rerun (Fred Berry, left), and Duane (Haywood Nelson, center), a shy younger boy who was happy that they let him hang around. Filling out the cast was Raj's imposing, no-nonsense Mama (Mabel King) and his little sister Dee, whose catchphrase "I'm telling Mama" enjoyed a brief popularity.

There were immediate complaints about the simplistic plotlines and the cultural stereotypes. Weren't Raj and Rerun just a teenage Amos and Andy? And Mama just a new version of Aunt Jemima? Mabel King wondered why her character had to be a maid. Why not have her go back to school, get a better job, start a business? It didn't happen, and at the end of the second season she left. Without Mama as a moral center, the series limped along with low ratings and was finally cancelled.

But there was a lot for gay kids to like in What's Happening!!

1. Minimal heterosexual interest. During the first two seasons, no episodes involved Raj and Rerun liking girls or getting girlfriends (two involved Duane).

2. Homoromantic buddy bonding between Raj and Rerun. In the third season, they even move into an apartment together.

3. Duane was shy, soft, passive, pretty -- gay-vague. Maybe that's why he got girls, because audiences need reassuring about his sexual identity.

4. No shirtless or semi nude shots, but lots of bulging. Duane looked good coming and going.

A sequel, What's Happening Now!!, aired from 1985 to 1988. The gang was now young adults. Raj, newly married, was working as a writer. Rerun sold used cars. Duane was a computer programmer with a spectacular bodybuilder's physique (but he took off his shirt in just one episode). They also added a couple of teenage best friends (Martin Lawrence, Ken Sagoes). The homoromantic subtexts were all but forgotten.

Ernest L. Thomas has busy since the 1980s, most recently in a recurring role as a creepy funeral director on Everybody Hates Chris. I met him in Hollywood in 1988.

Fred Berry died in 2003.

Haywood Nelson was a popular teen star during What's Happening. His roles included The White Shadow (1979), where he got to buddy-bond with Timothy Van Patten (right), and Evilspeak (1981), where he had a nude scene. Today he is well known as an inspirational speaker. There are gay rumors, but he hasn't made any public statements.

Nude pics of Hayward Nelson are on Tales of West Hollywood.

Before researching my post onFather, Dear Father, I had never heard of a pantomime or panto, in spite of my years of study of English literature and hours of watching British tv. Apparently everyone raised in Britain has fond memories of Christmas pantomimes, but never writes about them or mentions them on tv, almost if as if they're too personal to share with the rest of the world.

The pantomime is a type of musical comedy performed during the Christmas season, using well-known stories. Next winter, for instance, you will be able to attend the pantos of Cinderella, Jack and the Beanstalk, Peter Pan, Puss in Boots, Aladdin, Dick Whittington, Treasure Island, and Robin Hood (prices range from $12 to $30 U.S.)

It's important for the basic plot to be familiar, since it will be skewed, augmented with satiric bits, slapstick, references to current events, and ad-lib scenes. The audience, mostly children, will interact with the cast, boo the villain, ask questions, shout "It's behind you!", and even argue: "Oh, no it isn't!""Oh, yes it is!."

There are five standard characters, plus a chorus and various comedic players:
1. The Principal Boy, traditionally played by a girl in drag, but now more often a tv star, such as Ray Quinn of The X Factor as Aladdin (top photo), or a boy band hunk.

That explains why, when I saw Peter Pan back in the 1960s, Peter was played by Mary Martin. And why the audience had to shout "I believe in fairies" to save Tinker Belle's life. Panto roots. But it doesn't explain the creepy dog in the nanny cap, or why people who aren't sick need to take "medicine."

2. The Dame, usually the Main Boy's mother, traditionally played by a man in drag.

3. The Comic Lead, the Main Boy's zany friend or servant, often played by another celebrity, such as Robin Askwith, or wrestler Nick Aldis as the Genie in Aladdin (left).

4. The Love Interest, an attractive woman with whom the Principal Boy will find love. If the original story lacks hetero-romance, not to worry, one will be added. For instance, in the Wizard of Oz panto, Dorothy falls in love with Elvis.

5. The Villain, male, female, or a drag performer.

Questions immediately arise: why the drag? What does it mean to watch a woman in male drag fall in love with a woman? Does it ameliorate the heterosexism of the boy-and-girl plotline? Are the pantos gay?

Maybe not. Maybe the drag serves to accentuate rather than challenge gender norms.

Although there have been pantos for adult gay audiences, such as Peta Pan (a lesbian version of Peter Pan), Get Aladdin, and Snow White and the Seven Poofs, two gay writers who grew up with the pantos felt that they weren't "for us."

And attempts to incorporate gay characters or situations into the traditional panto have met with hysterical hand-wringing of the "It's for kids!!!!" sort.

If you still haven't met your beefcake quota after seeing a panto, check out the Boxing Day Dips, hundreds of people -- mostly cute guys -- dashing into the ocean nude, or at least wearing as little as the censors will allow.

See also: 15 Reasons to Skip Christmas.

If you're not from the U.S. you might not be familiar with Thanksgiving, a holiday celebrated on the fourth Thursday in November (it's also celebrated on different dates in Canada, Liberia, and Grenada).

It's my favorite holiday. And the gayest:

1. It's in November, so it's cold outside, and dark at night like it's supposed to be. No one is forcing you to go out and "enjoy the outdoors."

2. There are no tv commercials depicting heterosexual couples giving each other gifts or watching in rapt joy as their children unwrap gifts.

3. There's no religious significance, so you won't feel guilty if you accidentally say "Happy Thanksgiving!" to someone who is Jewish, Muslim, Buddhist, Wiccan, or atheist. Although sometimes vegans will lecture you.

4. Gay men spend many extra hours at the gym in anticipation of over-indulging on Thanksgiving. As a result, at Thanksgiving they're more buffed than at any other time of the year.

5. Everyone gets to demonstrate their culinary skill.

6. You only get Thursday and maybe Friday off work, so there's no time to take a plane ride 2000 miles to the place you grew up. Thus, "home" is no longer in the past, it's the place you are today, and "family" is what you make of it.

This Advocate cover shows Howard Cruse's character Wendel being served Thanksgiving dinner in bed. But why is the kid wearing a mask? Is he the famous Thanksgiving character, Zorro?

7. If you do go home to visit extended family, Thanksgiving dinner is the traditional time for making Big Announcements, like "Guess what? I'm gay."

8. Most of the bars, clubs, and bathhouses have special Thanksgiving Day events, so you don't have to waste all Thanksgiving afternoon watching football.

9. The origin story, about 17th century Pilgrims and Indians coming together to share a meal, is an imperialist myth, masking a history of conquest and genocide. But it does lend itself to some interesting ideas for homoerotic revisions (picture from Crow821 on deviantart.com).

10. Gay people have a lot to be thankful for. They grew up in a culture where they told, over and over, that "discovering the opposite sex" was inevitable and universal, that no gay people existed except for grotesque monsters. And they survived.

When I moved to West Hollywood in 1985, I was astonished. There were no gay characters in any comic book or comic strip I had ever seen before, even in gay magazines, except for an occasional Donelan cartoon or Tom of Finland erotic drawing, but here there were entire strips with all-gay casts (except for the occasional heterosexual villain). In Frontiers, the weekly news magazine. In the monthly anthology Gay Comix (1980-1988), by Kitchen Sink Press. In the Meatmen anthology of trade paperbacks, edited by Winston Leyland (1989-1999).

During the late 1980s, they stopped being called "comix" (underground, radical) and became "comics" (mainstream).

Here are my favorite gay comic titles:

1. Murphy's Manor (Kurt Erichsen), about a regular guy who works as a librarian in Black Swamp, Ohio, and his various gay and lesbian friends.

The Sparkle Spinsters, led by the flamboyant Duchess (right), sometimes appear in a separate feature.

Kurt Erichsen offers .pdfs of Murphy's Manor from 1981 to 2005 on his website.

Jayson, by Jeffrey A. Krell. Jason Callohide is an underemployed liberal arts graduate sharing a single apartment in Philadelphia with his straight gal pal, Arena Stage. They are drawn in the clean, spare style of Archie Comics.

Jeffrey A. Krell has published several trade paperbacks of Jayson's adventures, the most recent in 2012. He also produced an off-Broadway musical, Jayson

Poppers, by Jerry Mills, set right in the heart of West Hollywood, starring Yves, a regular guy who works in a bookstore, his hunky best friend Billy, and the flamboyant Andre. It features all of the glitz, glamour, sex, and drugs that you expect in the pre-AIDS era of sexual liberation (it's even named after a psychotropic drug, amyl nitrite)

But beneath all that it's about friends sticking together in a hostile world, about the search for a place where you belong.

Jerry Mills died of AIDS in 1993.

You can get gay comics now on Amazon -- they arrive in mail in 10 days, hidden from view in a brown box -- but that can't match the immediacy of walking down to the Different Light Bookstore on Larrabee and Santa Monica and grabbing them right off the shelf.

See also: Donelan; Howard Cruse; and Tom of Finland.

Speaking of clueless straight guys, in the fall of 1997, when I was in grad school at Long Island University, the eight grad students in my "cohort" all shared an office. We hung out there and chatted. I didn't actually have "The Conversation" with any of them, but come on -- discussions of the guys I'm dating?

Especially when I bring same-sex dates to all of the departmental parties, barbecues, receptions, and other festivities.

And discuss the same-sex dates in detail, especially Jaan the Estonian mountain climber. I told them about where I took him on our first date, about the gift I gave him for his birthday, about how Yuri and I were competing over him. I even described his pecs and biceps, and ability to bench press 320 lbs.

Most of them got it, eventually, but Todd didn't.

A 22-year old graduate of SUNY Albany, short and slim with a fragile, wounded face, one of those people we called a "born-again sociologist," someone who believes that sociology has the answer to every question, and every other field of inquiry is worthless.

One day he asked around the office about the quote: "If I have seen far, it is because I have stood on the shoulders of giants." What sociologist said that? He wanted to use it in his paper.

He was crestfallen to discover that it was said by Sir Isaac Newton, not a sociologist. Therefore worthless.

Early in the spring semester of 1998, in the midst of some conversation or other, Todd turned to me, a look of utter shock on his fragile, wounded face, and said “Wait. . .are you trying to tell me that you’re gay?”

“Um...no...I mean, how could you not know that? I’ve been telling you about my boyfriend for months.”

“You mean your girlfriend?”

“Boyfriend,” I repeated.

“Well, maybe it’s your boyfriend, but you definitely told me she was a girl. Was that a screen?”

We sat around for twenty minutes trying to figure it out. Todd recalled me using the words “girl” and “girl-friend.” He could remember the expression on my face, the intonation of my voice, as I said: “She was flirting with Yuri last night,” “I gave her a romantic birthday card,” or “I’m inviting her home to meet my parents.”

But I had just come from 13 years in West Hollywood, where passing was a cardinal sin. I would never dream of transforming "he" into "she," or of using vague terms that left one with the impression of straightness without actually saying it.

Apparently Todd was switching the pronouns himself. Without even realizing it, he had been making mental adjustments, hearing girl instead of boy, she instead of he, her instead of him.

What about the descriptions of Jaan’s hot body, chest, abs, biceps? Bench-pressing ability?

"I figured you also had a male friend with the same name, and you were describing him."

"And...you never commented on this coincidence, having two friends, a boy and a girl, both named Jaan?"

He shrugged. "What other explanation was there? You never told me that you were...um...you know, that way. How was I to know?"

What kind of mental gymnastics were necessary to avoid the more obvious conclusion? Why conjure up a screen memory as rich and detailed as those that hide alien abductions? What was so threatening about the simple observation that Boomer dates guys?

I'm not a big fan of Christmas. I dread seeing the first Christmas ads of the year, in August or September. The decorations going up in stores in October. And the day after Thanksgiving, when the onslaught begins in earnest, a full month of gaudy decorations and tinny music and exhortations to be merry.

It's the most heterosexist time of the year.

Here are 15 reasons to just skip it and spend December hiding out in yurt in Mongolia.

1. The Animated Specials: Unrelenting in their zeal in pairing up Santa Claus, Rudolph, and Frosty the Snowman with their female counterparts, while Burl Ives sings "Somebody waits for you -- kiss her once for me."

2. The TV Movies. Christmas Magic, A Christmas Kiss, A Bride for Christmas, Undercover Christmas. A lonely woman finds love with an unexpected man in a "Holiday Miracle." Over and over and over again.

3. The Nutcracker Ballet. Ok, so there are ample bulges and biceps to be seen, but it's a hetero-romance composed by a gay man.

4. The Commercials. 15,000 tv commercials show young heterosexual couples in expensive bathrobes giving each other elegant gifts and then kissing. 15,000 more show kids ecstatically upwrapping the gift du jour, while their heterosexual parents hug each other fondly. No same-sex couples, not even pairs of friends.

5. The Songs. Men and women endlessly meeting each other under the mistletoe. Kids getting gender-polarized presents. And "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas," the most depressing song ever written, part of the repertoire of Judy Garland, who believed -- with many gay people of her era -- that to be gay was to be constantly sad.

Did you know that the song was originally much more depressing? I'm not sure how that's possible, but the maven of depressing songs refused to sing it until it was cheered up from "throw yourself in front of a bus" to a mere "sob uncontrollably."

6. "Don we now our gay apparel." A reminder that the word "gay" previously meant something like "happy, giddy." Except today it's regularly censored, lest anyone's holiday celebrations be ruined by the recognition that gay people exist.

7. The Visit. You are required to wait at a crowded airport, sit in a packed airplane made even more cramped by bulky coats and packages, and go "home" to visit your birth family in the Straight World. But your heterosexual brother and sister are excused. The message is clear: they have their own home, but you don't. No matter how long they have lived in a place, no matter what social and emotional connections they have made, gay people have no "home."

8. The Dinner. Christmas Dinner back "home" involves endless discussions of heterosexual husbands and wives, boyfriend and girlfriends, but you are cautioned not to tell Aunt June about your boyfriend, lest her holiday be ruined.

9. The Breakup. There are an extraordinary number of breakups just after Christmas. People who don't like their boyfriends or girlfriends always think things like "I can't ruin their Christmas by dumping them. But the day after..."

My problem has always been going "home" for 10 days and leaving the boyfriend back in West Hollywood or New York or Florida. The vultures start circling immediately, bulging and flexing and cruising, and when I get back, I'm welcomed by "I didn't plan on it -- it just happened."

10. The Parties. They never end. Various offices, departments, schools, organizations, miscellaneous groups of friends. 10 or more before the season is over -- if you're lucky.

Roomsful of people who don't know you're gay, forcing you to come out endlessly and get surprised reactions, or else endure heterosexist small talk and flirting from every heterosexual Cougar in sight.

And endless supplies of cookies, candy, cakes, bars, and whatever other high-fat, high-sugar horrors that can be decorated in gaudy colors.

11. The Fashions. After all the parties, no wonder people dress in bulky sweaters and coats. Primary colors, gaudy designs, knit fabrics. It's the worst time of the year for showing off your muscles, or getting a glimpse of a Cute Young Thing's biceps and bulge.

12. Santa Claus. Fat, elderly, married, and wearing red. The antithesis of a gay icon.

13. The Salvation Army, which teaches that gay people should be stoned to death, is out in numbers ringing those little bells, and people are tossing money in gladly, emphasizing how thin the veneer of tolerance is -- at any moment, "I don't have any problem with you people" could change to screaming.

14. "A Perfect Holiday Gift." TV commercials and ads call it "the holidays," but they mean Christmas only, showing only Christmas traditions and ending summarily on December 26th, even though there is still New Year's Eve, Kwanzaa, and sometimes Ramadan and Hanukah left.

Gay people hear quite enough of this "universal" means "only us" claptrap:

She's every man's fantasy.
Every woman wants him; every man wants to be him.
There's not a man alive who wouldn't want to get with her.
Every boy "discovers" girls during adolescence.

15. "Cheer up, it's Christmas." You are required to feel ecstatic all the time. Even the most upbeat person can't be up all day, every day, but if you experience even a moment of melancholy, there are 3000 people waiting to tell you that there's something wrong with you, you're a Scrooge or a Grinch.

Gay people hear quite enough of this "You must feel a certain way" claptrap:

You're not really gay. You just haven't met the right person yet.
How do you know you're gay if you haven't tried it with a woman?
Ok, so you're gay, but don't tell me you would kick her out of bed!

But at least there are Pantomimes in England, and the Santa Speedo Run in Boston.

See also: Are the Pantos Gay; and My 12 Christmas Boyfriends

I just bought From Headrack to Claude, a compendium of the work of Howard Cruse, with author commentary.

He's one of the most famous gay cartoonists of all time, so I thought I should give his work another chance.

Until recently I thought it was a nom de plume, Howard Cruise, as in a play on cruising.

I first heard of "Howard Cruise" in the early 1980s, when the Advocate featured his comic strip Wendel.

Wendel was an average-looking, not-too-bright gay guy getting himself into mildly amusing situations as he negotiated life in the gay ghetto of New York. Cruising, dating, romance...homophobia, AIDS, misery, heartache, despair pain, sadness, death.

Soon the mildly amusing situations gave way to the grim and heartrending, as Wendel faced gay-bashing, breakups, debilitating non-AIDS related illnesses, homophobia, AIDS, death, death, misery, depression, despair, heartache, pain, death, death, death.

This cover shows Wendel, his boyfriend, and their son watching in dismay as murderous hands approach, and the voice on the radio says: "We red-blooded, God-fearing Americans know what to do with the degenerates in our midst."

Who could stand to read the thing?

Eventually Cruse squeezed all of the tears he could get out of Wendel, and put him out to pasture, turning to other depressing projects. In 1987, Dancing Nekkid with the Angels appeared: Comic Strips and Stories for Grownups.

For grownups? Does that mean that the gloves would come off, that the glimmers of humor that occasionally appeared in Wendel would be gone, replaced by "life is endless pain, unremitting agony!"

Sorry, there aren't enough antidepressants in the world to handle that. I ran.

Next came a graphic novel, Stuck Rubber Baby published in 1995.

Ok, the title was disgusting -- who wants to read a graphic novel about a rubber baby with needles sticking out of it?

Upon research, I discovered the title is actually an incredibly obscure reference to what happens when a condom (aka rubber) gets "stuck," allowing semen to escape and conception to occur. That's even more disgusting. And it doesn't seem like a problem gay people have often.

It is the semi-autobiographical story of a boy experiencing the unremitting agony of life while growing up in the 1950s South. Of course, most everyone he meets want to kick him out of the house, beat him up, arrest him, or kill him because he's gay, but that's only the tip of the iceberg of the gloom and despair:
1. His parents die in an auto accident, naturally.
2. He has sex with a woman to "cure" his gayness, and gives up the resulting child for adoption.
3. His friend is murdered.
4. A community center is bombed, killing lots of his friends.
5. His other friend is murdered.

Ok, I get it: gay people are doomed to lives of constant pain, unremitting agony, sadness, heartache, depression, despair, tragedy, gloom, death, death, death, death, death.

Or is it everybody, just the human condition?

From Headrack to Claude contains generous portions of Cruse's 1970s Barefootz underground comix, Wendel (of course), Stuck Rubber Baby, some depressing one-pagers, and a send-up of the 1950s comic book Little Lulu. Her traumatic memories involve child molestation, drug addiction, masturbation, fetishes, and...well, you get the idea.

Claude is about how all religious people are violent homophobes who want to kill us.

Geez.

Look at this picture of a guy with washboard abs and huge veiny biceps.

Now try to convince yourself that life is unremitting agony.

See also: Gay Comix of the 1980s.

When Viju started taking me to the bars, when we were in grad school in Bloomington in 1983, AIDS was practically unknown, there was little fear of being robbed or murdered, and the West Hollywood rule against casual sexual encounters did not exist.

We had casual sex. Quick, practically anonymous.

I think it's because we were living in a world inundated by images of men and women together, being told a hundred times a day that gay people did not exist, or if they did, they were monsters, and this was our way of rebelling, of relishing the look, smell, and feel of the masculine.

The adults are lying -- only real is real.

One night we saw an older black guy standing by the pool table, drinking a soda: in his 40s, taller than me, very muscular and very dark. Since I was particularly interested in black guys, Viju said that I could "have him."

He introduced himself as Ollie with a slightly lilting accent.

"That's a very Swedish," I commented.

"Short for Olawale. I'm from Nigeria."

The rest of the story, including the hookup and the tattooed penis, is on Tales of West Hollywood.

During the early 2000s, the success of Will and Grace prompted producers to flood the market with clones like Some of My Best Friends (2001), about an upper-class Anglo gay guy (Jason Bateman) living in Manhattan (aren't all gay people affluent, Anglo Manhattanites?) who accidently gets a straight, homophobic, working-class, Italian roommate (Danny Nucci, left). Sounds more like Joey and Chandler of Friends than Will and Grace.

Only five episodes aired during the spring of 2001. I saw half of one. Stereotypes were abundant.

The Advocate heavily promoted the show (before it aired). It even gave Jason Bateman and Danny Nucci a test to see who knew the most about gay people. Danny won.

No wonder. Jason Bateman hasn't had a lot of experience in gay and gay-friendly roles, but Danny Nucci has. As a teenager in the 1980s, he played a lot of buddy-bonding roles, and in the 1990s he transitioned to gay, bisexual, or "best buddy of the gay guy" roles. Plus he provides ample beefcake with numerous shirtless and nude scenes.

The Brotherhood of Justice (1986): a group of teenagers become violent vigilantes. Danny's character cuddles with brother Keanu Reeves.

An Enemy Among Us (1987). A CBS Schoolbreak Special. Danny plays a boy who contracts AIDS from a blood transfusion. But everybody thinks he's. . .you know.

Titanic (1997): Danny plays Fabrizio, Leonardo DiCaprio's buddy in the only gay subtext in the interminable movie.

The Unknown Cyclist (1998): a man dying of AIDS gets his gay and straight friends to participate in a charity bike race. Danny plays the bisexual Gaetano, who is HIV positive.

Friends and Lovers (1999): a group of friends hits the ski slopes. Danny plays a gay guy who gets his first boyfriend.

More recently, on "Mob Rules," an episode of House (2005): Danny plays a mobster who discovers that his brother is gay (he's going to become a witness so he can enter the Witness Protection Program and avoid harassment by his homophobic family).

I have never seen Teen Titans (2003-2006, 2012-), the cartoon series based on the DC comic books, so I don't know much about the shapeshifting Beast Boy. But according to Wikipedia, he is portrayed as a lighthearted jokester (voiced by Greg Cipes, left). He is best friends with Cyborg, and has a love-hate romance going on with a female titan named Raven.

Fan artists usually limit the Beast Boy -Cyborg bond to depictions of friendship. For sex and romance, they prefer pairing him with Robin and Aqualad.

Robin gets the more explicit sexual acts, sometimes unwillingly. Here they're being pushed together and assaulted by purple tentacles (a Japanese erotic tradition).

Fan artists like envisioning Beast Boy and Robin in intimate situations. This is about as G-rated as their pairings get.

For more romantic relationships, Beast Boy is usually paired with Aqualad, who appeared in the first season as his rival (another pair of antagonists in love).

Even while he's in love, Beast Boy's irreverent, fun-loving nature shines throughout. Here, dressed up for the Old West, he makes a risque joke about "poking dogies," while embarrassed boyfriend Aqualad, asks him to put on pants under his chaps (so his bare backside doesn't show).

(Original pictures from the artists on deviantart.com.)

See also: Batman and the Boy Wonder; Gay Fan Art #2: Invader Zim

Richie Brose: 1980s Beefcake Star Opens a Restaurant

Garcia Lorca: The Homophobic Gay Poet and his Boyfriend

The Many Loves of Dobie Gillis

Yuri Shares the Twink and the South Asian Bear

The Nutcracker: Men in Tights

Pufnstuf

The Marx Brothers

My Date with Michael J. Fox

The Top Ten Nature Show Hunks

American Dad: Horrifying, but not Homophobic

Inner City Prettyboy: What's Happening!!

Are the Pantos Gay?

10 Reasons Why Thanksgiving is the Gayest Holiday

Gay Comics of the 1980s

Spring 1998: Was It a Screen?

15 Reasons to Skip Christmas

Howard Cruse: The World's Most Depressing Gay Comic Artist

The African with the Tattooed Penis

Danny Nucci: Some of My Best Friends

Gay Fan Art 3: Beast Boy in love with Robin, Aqualad, Cyborg...