Tuesday, May 31, 2011


The other day I was walking Trooper down the street. Between her heart-stopping good looks and cute little waddle, people inevitably stop to pet her and hug her. 
She eats this stuff up and loves the attention. But beware ladies and gentlemen, behind the cute little face with the crooked teeth, lurks a vicious beast. As this attractive man bent down to shower her with kisses, Trooper spotted a dog about 100 feet away. And then it was on.

It starts with heavy breathing which quickly turns into a gurgle. And then it's full-on Tasmanian Devil.
Her growl is so frightening, people find it hard to believe that these horrible sounds are coming out of this little dog. When they see me carrying her in my arms to try to calm her down, the looks of adoration quickly turn to looks of "we better lock up our children".

Trooper has leash aggression, meaning that when she is with other dogs off-leash at the dog park, she is great. But put her on a leash and approach with another dog...the fiery gates of hell are swung open. I've come to learn that this behavior is actually because I have become her property and she is protecting me. I've gotten to a point where I can read her pretty well and anticipate one of these tantrums. I wind up picking her up and hiding behind a parked car or tuck into a driveway until the approaching threat passes. To the average person walking down the street, Trooper and I look like a couple of growling assholes. But being the single man that I am, and being the "man-magnet" that she is...this can be a bit of a problem.
I'm not stupid. I know Trooper's cuteness can help me snag a man. But I can't tell you how many times a hot guy has bent down to pet Trooper only to have Trooper "cock-block" me because an approaching dog has turned her into Ms. Hyde.
She has the same reaction with squirrels. And trucks. And bicycles. And skateboards. And often straight men. I'm not sure how she honed her gaydar skills...but she can sniff out an over abundance of testosterone a mile away. This actually comes in handy so I don't wind up sniffing the butt of some unavailable man. A great skill to have.
So my darling daughter, Trooper...please just do your job of attracting potential dates for your Daddy and stop acting like a crazy nut-bag. Thank you.

Thursday, May 26, 2011


Growing up in harsh suburban Chicago weather, many families would vacation in mild destinations to escape the extreme cold or heat.  In the 1970s, Skokie, Illinois was a predominantly middle-class, Jewish suburb. We were definitely middle-middle class and really couldn't afford extravagant vacations like many of my classmates. So when we would have to write a paper called "What I Did On Vacation",while most of my classmates wrote about going to Florida, Hawaii and in some cases Europe, I wrote about taking a drive up the Edens Expressway with my family, pulling off the side of the road and picking "cat-tails" in on-coming traffic. Once as a visual aid, I brought in some of the "cat-tails" and while reading my paper to the class, I rubbed them causing them to explode with pollen sending everyone into a raging allergy attack. My 4th grade teacher, Ms. Heckmeyer, got pissed at me and our relationship was never the same.

The one place my sister and I really wanted to visit was Disneyworld in Orlando! Many of our classmates would come back from summer vacations wearing their Mickey Mouse T-shirts. But we knew that we just couldn't afford it. Until one day when I was in Jr. High School...our parents said YES!
Getting off the plane in Orlando was magical. I can still remember the way the mild Florida climate felt on my skin. We checked in at the Howard Johnson's Hotel at Lake Buena Vista and I couldn't believe how beautiful everything was. "Look at the view", I said as I opened the balcony door. But my euphoric state quickly came to an end when a giant flying cockroach kamikazed into our room landing on the floor. When it comes to bugs, I was (and still am) a screamer. Yelling for my father to get a piece of Kleenex to kill this hideous creature wasn't going to work this time. I think I may have thrown a piece of luggage at this monster, but seem to recall that it threw it back at me. Somehow, we got our flying welcome ambassador back out onto the balcony. (Normally I would put a picture of a cockroach here, but I am so grossed out, I can't even entertain the thought.)

To make sure that everyone knew that the Sumner's were a family, we all got matching outfits. I'm sure it was probably my idea since that is what many of the kids in school did with their families. So we all got bright yellow, front and back, Mickey Mouse T-shirts (see sample below...but in yellow)
and stretch, patch jeans with leather stars on our butts. (I tried finding a picture of these, but they were so hideous, I think they were banned from the internet.)

And then the fighting began. We all had very different ideas of what we wanted to do and, being the control freak that I tended to be, I had an agenda. So I decided to ditch my family and go to the parks by myself. Remember that this was before cell phones, so how my parents didn't have a nervous breakdown allowing their bratty son to go wherever the hell he pleased, is beyond me. 
That morning in Epcot Center by myself was incredible. There I was living out my fantasy, this little gay child in his patch jeans, dancing past Spaceship Earth and twirling through the Living Seas. I went on so many rides, got through every single country, and didn't have to go to the bathroom once! When I hooked up with my family later, I felt like I had six vacations while they stayed at the pool.

One of the things I remember most about our Disneyworld trip was the way the stores smelled. There was a very distinct pleasant smell that many of the shops had on the grounds of Disneyworld. One of the stores featured thousands of stuffed Disney characters. My parents bought me a "Big Al" stuffed animal from the Country Bear Jamboree. Although I was really too old for stuffed animals, I loved Big Al for a very specific reason. His face was made of plastic and he had a permanent open mouth expression. This was how I learned to French kiss. For years I would stick my tongue down Big Al's throat and hump his big furry body. By the time I was ready to part with Big Al, his fur had been worn off from the frottage and his face was indistinguishable from me licking off all the paint. I think that is why I am sometimes attracted to "bears".

Disneyworld was one of two family vacations that we went on. (The other being Washington, D.C.) Although we fought like cats and dogs, we did manage to have some fun. Years later, I won a trip to Disneyworld for being the number one Tupperware sales person in the U.S. and I brought along 3 of my friends. Seeing Disneyworld through the eyes of 4 gay men as opposed to a family in stretch patch jeans is a very different thing. And on this trip...I was determined to find my real "Big Al". But that's another story.

Wednesday, May 25, 2011


I was always bad at sports. I know this may come as a shock to those of you that know me, but I am not Sporty Spice. That's not to say that I don't enjoy playing some of them, I just hate most of the people that play them. I don't mean to sound like Rita Resentment. I just have a little bit of sports damage, that's all. 

In my stand-up act, I used to talk about how I thought dodgeball was a hate-crime. You haven't lived until you are the recipient of 10 hard rubber balls being hurled at you by an opposing team of hateful children while a grinning gym teacher looks on. Sure, now we have all these rules about bullying on the playground. But when I was growing up, the best protection from a flying ball with evil intentions was a fast pair of legs and a high-pitched, siren-like scream.

In gym class, I was the kid who was always picked last...as if it was some hideous burden to just put me in far-right field during a game of kickball. Had they taken the time to get to know me, they might have discovered that my extension in my legs was that of a budding dancer and that I would have kicked that damn ball like a Rockette

But no, there I was stuck in right-field, arms flailing in the air, running in circles because a bee was chasing me.

Flag football was also a hideous failure. The problem here is that no one bothered to actually explain the rules of this game to me. It was assumed that all little boys knew what a down was. I thought down was the stuff in my pillow. So on "hike", I would run around like a nut and rip off as many flags as possible. Many of them were from my own team mates. The good news in playing flag football is that while I was harvesting flags, the rest of those assholes were throwing the ball to each other leaving me alone. Until the quarterback (impressed I know that term?) would see that I was the only one in the clear, would spike the ball to me and would get me a first-class ticket to the nurses office.

I actually played little league baseball for awhile. Two seasons exactly. My first year in the "Farm League", I was a member of the Cardinals. I loved my little red uniform and knew it would look awesome zooming around the bases. Unfortunately, it also looked great sitting on the bench. I played...you guessed it...right field. And when batting, I was terrified of getting hit by the ball...even though the ball was on a tee stand. 

"Step into it Sumner," coach Cochran would bellow at me. At which point I would close my eyes, swing at the tee, knock it over and leave the ball resting on home plate. My parents didn't express any disappointment, except for the numerous lamp posts I broke with my keen throwing abilities. Instead they were just happy I was participating in a team sport rather than lip-syncing to Liza Minnelli on the Hi-Fi by myself. 

I did eventually get better during my second year in the Farm League. (I was so bad that first year, I was held back. ) But in year two when we disposed of the tee, I became a pitcher. Sure I injured hundreds of little boys with my wild, spastic pitches. But the fact that I had their parents screaming at me while on the pitcher's mound just made me feel validated. At last people were looking!

My incredible sporting abilities followed me into college. At that point I had honed my dancing skills and was becoming a very different type of athlete. Since I went to a liberal arts college, it was required that students take 4 physical education units. I was thrilled because I was sure that with my vast dance experience, I wouldn't be required to complete these classes. WRONG! Imagine my horror when I was told second semester of my senior year that in order to graduate, I would need to take at least 3 of these units. MOTHER F-ER! More getting picked last. More harvesting flags!

But I was thrilled to find that I had choices. So here's what I took:

ARCHERY- I went through the entire semester not being able to hit the giant target, until the P.E. teacher pointed out that when aiming, I had the wrong eye closed.

BILLIARDS - In this class, I would go play pool and get my ass whipped by the on-campus lesbians.

RELAXATION - Designed to help reduce stress, I would be at the gym at 7am and be asleep again by 7:06. Needless to say, I aced the final.

Years later I am proud to say that I discovered a sport that I actually enjoyed: long distance running. I am proud to say that I completed three marathons and one half-marathon. So all of you sons-a-bitches who used to bully me in gym class...you can suck it!

So I couldn't climb a rope, catch a ball, swing a racket, hit a target and was always the last one picked. But what I could do was get up in front of lots of people and express myself and I turned out okay! As I look back, going through the humiliation of being lousy at most sports really helped make me become a more resilient human being and, oddly enough, a better performer. Do I agree with the methods my teachers used? HELL to the NO! And I have a zero tolerance policy when it comes to bullying kids!!! But there needs to be a balance between insulating our children from failure and harassing them for not being good at something. Children should learn from things that they might not excel at and be encouraged to find their talents.

Okay enough of my soapbox. I'm gonna go shoot some hoopies. (Pause) Now we both know that's not gonna happen.

Tuesday, May 24, 2011


I love Oprah! I really do. What she has done for people around the world is just incredible. But that being said, having watched the first part of the 2 finale shows, you'd think that she was going to be shot up into the heavens for her OWN Rapture. (Get it? OWN!)

In my best Oprah voice, "Ladies and Gentlemen...Jeeeeeeesus Chriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiist!"

So what do you get for a woman who has spent the past 25 years literally changing the world and who has everything. Oh, I know. A FOREST. 25,000 oak trees to be exact. Diane Sawyer called them Oprah Trees. So now I suppose I have to say, "Get your damn feet of my Oprah coffee table!" or "Crap! I think I've got Poison Oprah!"

The person I feel sorry for here is the poor schmuck P.A. who got Oprah a Starbucks gift card for $10. "Oh thank you baby. Just put it over there next to my forest." I mean...what pressure! How can one possibly shop for this woman, who has educated us and forced us to look at ourselves in the world with new eyes. 

So that is why I am proposing a brand new shrine to the soon-to-be deceased Oprah Winfrey Show using my OWN special gifts. I call it Oprahland! A new theme park dedicated to everything Oprah. 

Some of the attractions include:
STEADMAN'S WILD RIDE - You get to become Oprah's partner Steadman on this classic dark ride and shooting gallery. Riders will get to shoot annoying paparazzi that pop out and say, "Over here Mister Winfrey".

OPRAH AND GAIL'S TRIP ACROSS AMERICA - Sit in the back seat as Oprah and Gail bicker their way through scenic America. This interactive experience allows riders to vote from a one (strictly friends) to ten (full throttle lezzie). 

YOU BE OPRAH'S GUEST - You are the star of the show when you say your name into the computer and then magically Oprah introduces you as a guest. "Ladies and Gentlemen....Jeffrey SUUUUUUUUUUUMMMMNNNNEEEEEERRRRR!"

OPRAH'S UGLY CRY - An audio-animitronic Oprah responds to your sad story. The sadder the story, the uglier the cry. Caution: this ride will get you wet.

THE PRODUCER COASTER - For all of you thrill-seekers who watch "Season 25: Behind the Scenes"  you get to be a producer on the Oprah Winfrey Show. Pitch your idea to Oprah. If she likes it, you will experience a fast smooth ride. If not, get ready for drops, spins and mood swings.

THE TOWER OF HAIRROR- You never know what hair style Oprah is going to wear. But when you ride this free-fall style ride, your hair will transform into one of Oprah's many crazy hairstyles from year's past.

TOM CRUISE MOON BOUNCE - You get to play Tom cruise and jump on Oprah's furniture.

OPRAH'S BOOK CLUB: THE RIDE - This roller coaster type attraction shoots you out at 80 miles an hour and then sends you straight up into the air where you get to scream at an audio-animatronic James Frey, author of "A Million Little Pieces".

YOU GET A CAR! - Riders begin in a holding area, until Oprah screams "You get a car!", at which point they trample one another to get their car of choice before anyone else. Helmuts and knee-pads provided.

And finally AHA! THE MUSICAL! A cast of singers and dancers that sing songs of inspiration and in the end, discover that they are enough. 

So suck it all of you girl's school-building, tree-planting, mother-f-ers. Once I build Oprahland, nothing will be able to stop my growing HARPO empire! Muah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!

So long Oprah! You will be missed!

Monday, May 23, 2011


So we're still here. And apparently that yahoo Harold Camping, the putz who predicted the end of the world, is now saying that, "God delayed judgement so that more people can be saved".

Where is this man getting his information? And did he really not have a back-up plan, just in case? I guess that would be a question to his faith if he had doubt. But somewhere in the back of your mind, Harold, wasn't their a teeny, tiny voice that said, "Don't cancel my subscription to the Hollywood Bowl"?

I just went to his Family Radio website and clicked on "What's New". Nothing. Clearly someone is going to lose their job over that one. Cause...NEWSFLASH...you're still alive people. 

Are we really that starved for spiritual leadership that we will follow some schmuck who applies some algebra to the Bible and comes up with a date for Armageddon? I think the lesson to be learned here is that...MATH IS HARD! Personally, when it comes to numbers, I freeze up. When I was in Jr. High School, my teacher somehow made a mistake, and placed me in the advanced "Algebra Group" (which she pronounced ALL-JE-BRAH making us all sound like we were from France)
I struggled and struggled. And I think the reason I didn't get bumped back down to Peasant Level Math was because she didn't want to admit that she made a mistake. By the time I got to high school, I was placed in Remedial Geometry.

Perhaps that is what happened with Mr. Camping. Maybe he bit off a few more fractions than he could chew or couldn't answer a basic story problem:

If Jesus could save only part of the population, and 97% of the population would be doomed to hellfire considering the number of homos and Jews in the world, not to mention Jewish Homos, how many believers would it take to fly in the air and screw up air traffic control? And what date will all this occur?

May 21, 2011

BUZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ! WRONG Mr. Camping! You need to divide the number of damned souls by the square root of Jesus times lift plus wind speed divided by the lowest common denominator which is Leviticus plus Jews and the quotient of Homos. Sheez Louise, Mr. Camping! Even those of us in Remedial Geometry know that!

When the stakes are this high, and you have thousands of people donating money to your cause...I suggest to enroll in a basic math class at the Learning Annex, before you make your next prediction.
And for the record...I still HATE math!

Saturday, May 21, 2011


So what is a rapture? According to the Bible, it is the event that will occur at the End of Days where Christians will assemble in the air to meet Christ.  After the saved Christians are air-born, they will apparently be whisked off to Heaven while the rest of us poor schmucks deal with the end of the world for the next five months. According to Christian radio broadcaster Harold Camping, the time of the rapture is scheduled for today, May 21, 2011 at 6pm in every time zone. So kind of like what happens on the New Year, the East coast will experience it first while the West coast has to wait 3 hours where they can watch the time delayed broadcast of "Dick Clark's Rockin' Rapture."

So once again, the Goyim have all the fun! Not only do you get the cool holidays like Christmas and Easter...but now you get to FLY!!! WTF!!! So I guess I'll do what most Jews will do. While you Christians are whooping it up on your flight with Jesus, I'll be eating Chinese.

The Bible is not very specific about what to bring with you if you are chosen to (as Elphaba says) defy gravity. Most likely you won't need much since the plan is to rendezvous on a cloud somewhere and then head on up to Heaven, in which case you won't need any worldly possessions. So I would recommend a light sweater since it may be chilly. 

Now because the Bible doesn't talk about how long you'll be up there or if you'll be taking a detour, you may want to pack an overnight bag or napsack. Eagle Creek makes wonderful canvas packing folders that will literally hold up to 12 garments and keep them nicely folded. 
RAPTURE TIP: Place a Bounce fabric softener sheet in the envelope with your clothes so Jesus can smell how fresh you are. Surely this will help you become Heavenly-bound.

I am not sure if there is an in-flight meal planned, so those of you rapturing may need to pack a lunch. Unlike most of the major airlines, this flight doesn't allow you to purchase any type of snack-pack other than loaves and fishes. So pack something light like a small Tupperware filled with granola or pick-up up a sandwich at Fresh N' Easy.

Well it turns out that pets who believe will be joining those selected. And the best part is that they don't have to fly in the luggage compartment or in a carrier. They will get to float alongside you.

According to Harold Camping, at 6pm a horrible global earthquake is supposed to start in Australia and make it around the world. This will set off a series of destructive events until the world ends on October 21st. 
Approximately 200 million people will be saved leaving the other 7 billion of us crushed in the quake, burned by sulfur or turned into pillar of salt. Hmm. Why salt and not pepper?

Camping also goes on to explain that it is occurring at this time to punish those participating in Gay Pride and Same-Sex Marriage.
October 21st. We are done.
I suppose the one good thing about this insanity is that it makes people aware that time is precious and that they should live every day as if it's their last. However, the God that I believe in doesn't instill fear and hate but rather brings joy and love. Just ask the thousands of vibrant people that were at the Kylie Minogue concert last night at the Hollywood Bowl. So I guess...today I feel like I've already been raptured here on earth. Mr. Camping, I am officially canceling your little rapture-fest!

But I have to admit...the flying thing is pretty cool!

Friday, May 20, 2011


Stage mothers have existed since the beginning of time. Back in the stone age, while the men would hunt for food, these prehistoric beasts would remain in the cave, place their offspring on a rock and say, "Ugh, ugh, ugh!" Translation - "Sing out Louise!"
The Blessed Virgin Mary may have even said to Jesus, "Honey, when you do these public speaking gigs, you might want to hold you hands like this."
Some stage mothers, push too hard driving their children to insanity.
And then there are those monsters that vicariously live their own dreams through their children, injecting them with poor values and in some cases...Botox. More on that in a bit.
Okay, so my guilty pleasure is "Toddlers and Tiaras". I love a good beauty pageant train wreck and perhaps, just like these hideous stage moms, I am a monster too for watching this. I can't help it. I am fascinated by this twisted little world of parents trying to make their children into these living dolls. 
I live for these crazy mothers doing the moves with their children when they are onstage and forcing them to do that nauseating little-girl sexy pose. I scream at the TV when these idiots spend their food money on a $4000 dress, just so their princess can go home with an Ultimate Grand Supreme trophy. (Yes. I know the lingo.)

But it's all good fun until we jump into the "child abuse" pool. So this asshole of a mom, Kerry Campbell, was featured in this story on "Good Morning America" saying that she injects her daughter with Botox so she can win pageants. And now TMZ is reporting that she made the whole thing up.

First of all...she didn't make it up. I really believe this woman is whack-a-doodle enough to do this to her daughter. How a parent can do this to a child is incomprehensible to me. However, perhaps it will shed some light and perspective on they way we groom our little girls to be just like us. Do we really want our kids growing up with body dismorphia and eating disorders not to mention low self-esteem?

Being a beauty pageant winner myself (so to speak), I know first hand what it feels like to have thousands of people screaming for you. And just for the record...I did not use Botox. Foam rubber, yes. Botox, no. And my mother wasn't screaming, "Sing out Louise!" from offstage. But enough about my brief pageant royalty. Shouldn't these kids be celebrated for being kids and not miniature adults?

Working where I work, it's pretty amazing to watch parents allow their children to just be themselves. There is something so magical about kids being able to express themselves in their innocence. Although I make jokes about "Toddlers and Tiaras" (and will continue to watch), it's pretty great when you see those one or two kids on the show who do the pageants simply because they love them. The kids who genuinely love to perform onstage and who embody a great sense of sportsmanship. The ones who are okay with a simple "Princess" trophy as opposed to having to be the Ultimate Grand Supreme.

So Botox Mom--my advice to you--take your daughter out of pageants and let her be a little girl. Maybe enroll her in soccer or Girl Scouts. And then...only then...will she be able to truly "Sing out Louise"! 

After all...look how good I turned out.