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Top 10 Homoerotic Horror Movies
I’ve always felt that Horror movies were a bit gay. So I’ve decided to take a look at the top 10 homoerotic horror movies.
The way-to-good looking heartthrob, who incidentally always has great hair, teeth and wears Daz white Ts only to eventually get ripped and shredded by an ugly monster, it’s a bit like Saturday nights at The Black Cap.
10. Jeepers Creepers 2
First in our list of homoerotic horror movies is the 2005 flick Jeepers Creepers. The first time we see the winged monster from Jeepers Creepers (in the first movie) he’s preying after some boy in a cornfield, clearly, after tasting boy fear, he can’t help himself but go after an entire busload of jocks. It’s a bit like Bait Bus but messier, a bit like HazeHim.com but deadlier. So after the bus, they are all travelling on, suffers a flat tyre, the boys proceed to lie on top of the bus half naked basking in the sunshine as well as taking extended urinating breaks together.
After doing away with the grown-ups on the trip the Monster starts picking on the jocks, leaving the first victim half naked and provocatively draped on the ground for the remainder of the film. Hot and Homoerotic.
Prognosis Homoerotic 60% BUY DVD FROM AMAZON
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Jacqueline Davies Appointed New Chair Of Stonewall
Jacqueline Davies has been appointed the new Chair of Stonewall.
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COMMENT: Halloween
Everyone, it seems, loves a good party. It’s October and all the shops are full of party ideas and of course gifts, for Halloween. Maybe I’m just a killjoy, but I don’t really get very excited about it. As a child, I was only peripherally aware of Halloween.
Bonfire Night was the big party I used to get excited about. If I ever recognised the day at all, it would be spending it with my childhood friends, furtively reading ghost stories by torchlight, whilst listening to Mussorgsky’s “Night on the Bare Mountain”, in the hope that my mother wouldn’t come in and break up the party. All quite innocent and we’d all be safely tucked up in bed before the witching hour struck.
In recent years, though, I’ve become increasingly aware of the proliferation of tacky ghoulish merchandise in the shops at this time of year, and I was astonished to read a few days ago that Halloween is now the second most popular family occasion in the UK behind Christmas, with parents likely to spend more than £100 on parties for their children this year. Apparently, he money we spend on Halloween has soared by a massive 2,300% over the last 10 years to be worth £280 million. What on earth has precipitated this change? When did Halloween take over from Bonfire Night, a peculiarly British tradition, which celebrated the day Guy Fawkes failed in his attempt to blow up the Houses of Parliament way back in 1605? When I was young, I loved Bonfire Night. Whilst our fathers went about building a bonfire out of old furniture and dead wood, our mothers would be preparing food for the feast – jacket potatoes, sausages and all manner of warming treats. The men were also responsible for the fireworks display and we, the children created the effigy of Guy Fawkes who would be ceremonially burned on the bonfire. After Christmas, Bonfire Night was the most eagerly anticipated festival of the year, for all that we didn’t get any extra school holiday. It was a big, low cost, community event.
So what happened? When did Halloween take over from Bonfire Night?
I suppose one theory would be that tripping around in a naff witch’s costume is infinitely less dangerous than burning bonfires and setting off fireworks (the Fire Service are no doubt relieved) but I have a sneaking suspicion that it has more to do with money, or rather commercialism, and where there is commercialism, you don’t have to look far to see the influence of the USA.
Halloween is absolutely huge over there, and the bigger the festival becomes, the easier it is to get people to spend vast amounts of money on things they don’t need and will no doubt throw away the following week.
Hang on, isn’t that what happens at Christmas? Indeed it is, and guess what? The modern day Santa Claus is generally believed to be the invention of Washington Irving, a nineteenth century New Yorker, who wished to create a benign figure that might help calm down riotous Christmas celebrations and refocus them on the family. Loosely based on a Dutch gift giving Sinterklaas, Santa Claus was actually a secular figure, and it is the work of various advertisers that has created the image we recognise as Santa Claus today. The English Father Christmas was not a gift giver, but rather a personification of Christmas and a Yule-tide visitor. It is only from the 1870s that he became increasingly associated with the American Santa Claus, and it is the American Santa Claus who now dominates Christmas in all those countries that celebrate it. Now I wouldn’t want to suggest that dear old Washington Irving cynically adopted the idea of a gift giving Santa Claus, in order to bolster the coffers of Macy’s, but I have no doubt Macy’s seized on Santa like manna from heaven, the actual child of heaven (Jesus) being somewhat less interesting.
In case you wondered, I hate Christmas too. What we get in the run up to Christmas is the absolute opposite of the spirit of good will, the kind of good will that permeated London, during the Olympics this year, for instance. What we do get is millions of people trailing round shops, pushing through the crowds, desperately trying to think of presents for relations they won’t see for another year. The adverts start early, exhorting us to spend! spend! spend!, as we worship the god of commercialism; and if, like me, you decide you’d rather just ignore the whole thing and go away to somewhere they don’t celebrate it, you’ll find the price of a plane ticket out of the country has quadrupled!
Where will it end? Other minor festivals are now much bigger than they ever were. Valentine’s Day might once have been considered a bit of fun, but now it is big business. Why? Well it’s big business in the US, so why not here too? How about Easter? As children, we of course loved Easter. What child wouldn’t? All those delicious chocolate eggs, but now it seems children expect Easter gifts too. Mother’s Day was a day on which we children got our mother some flowers and maybe wrote her a card. Nowadays, woe betide the husband who doesn’t buy his wife a big present or take her out for dinner. Where America went before, it seems we follow, and I, for one, am tiring of it, as attempts to part us from our hard earned cash become ever more aggressive. I don’t want anyone to get the idea I’m some miserly old grump, who never enjoys a party and never buys anyone a gift. I enjoy a good time as much as anyone and I love giving presents. I just don’t want some American corporation telling me when I should be doing it.
Opinions expressed in this article may not reflect those of THEGAYUK, its management or editorial teams. If you’d like to comment or write a comment, opinion or blog piece, please click here.
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INTERVIEW | Patricia Kaas
Patricia Kaas is one of France’s biggest selling acts of all time.
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BOOK REVIEW | Born This Way
L.A. club D.J. Paul V. began an online project in 2011 showing childhood pictures of gay men and women along with their descriptions of what it was like to grow up gay.
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COMMENT: Bigots
We all know one. You know one. I know one.
I don’t like the expression.
You’re either a racist, sexist, ageist or homophobic.
I read an article last week. It quoted the Pope. He said:
“Gay people are not fully developed humans”
No. The Nazis were undeveloped people Benedict. Cough-Cough I digress.
How is he getting away with homophobic outbursts like that? Say for example a comedian was heard saying black people are “not fully developed humans” or an MP was heard saying the same about women, there’d be utter outrage. Yet if you make outright homophobic statements you seemingly get away without any action. Obviously, earlier last week, the delightful Nick Griffin posted the address of the gay couple Michael Black and John Morgan who won their case against the chillingly bigoted Susanne Wilkinson who decided they could not stay in her B&B. He posted their address on Twitter. To thousands of people. Thousands of people who support this wannabe dictator. His punishment for posting their address to his vile supporters? Banned from tweeting… for a day. Big punishment for a man who essentially put their home and their lives at stake.
Yet the ‘almighty’ Pope can publicly say such disgusting things. Oh I forgot… He can say what he wishes; because he fronts an organisation who’s standpoint on using HIV preventative measures, the woman’s right to chose and homosexuality to name a few, verge on the immoral. His organisation also has hundreds of years of power and a money reserve of millions to back its causes. I’m in NO WAY saying that all Catholics are immoral, but if you agree with the homophobic things he says… then you need to either have a serious re-think about your morals, or leave society. I don’t care how you do it.
I know many Catholics who completely disagree with the Pope’s extreme views. So potentially the question is: Is the pope a true spokesman for all Catholics around the world? The world has opened its eyes and its mind… Evidently we’re waiting for the Vatican to follow suit.
Being against gays, gay pride, gay adoption and gay marriage is fine. Small minded people are out there; let them think what they want to think. However, don’t dare try and stop gay people living their lives how they want to live them. There is such a casual attitude towards homophobia and I for one am sick of it.
Until next time darlings. Saunters off to the drinks cabinet
Opinions expressed in this article may not reflect those of THEGAYUK, its management or editorial teams. If you’d like to comment or write a comment, opinion or blog piece, please click here.
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Steps Release Light Up The World
Camp mega band Steps officially released their brand new single Light Up The World.
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INTERVIEW | Margaret Cho
Margaret Cho is an unstoppable force. A designer, author, actress, singer-songwriter an equalities warrior and one of America’s funniest women.
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COLUMN: Two Glasses Of Water And A Gay Mag
Hark back to the summer of 2003 and what do you recall? The scorching Indian summer? Beyoncé’s ‘Crazy In Love’ blasting out of every radio, Topshop, hair salon and car stereo?
Me? Well, I was fresh out of college with the usual aspirations of world domination. The comedown from the heady student days was starting to kick in. My newfound residency at the dole queue was another bone of contention. My battle with my sexuality was nearing a denouement. After all the soul searching and pathetic, half arsed attempts at being a Hetty, I had as good as conceded a blissful, euphoric defeat to queerness.
It was time to take the plunge, albeit gradually. At the time I was spending a summer of discontent in Dublin dossing around with my best mate and the hot straight guy from college I was convinced I could turn. There comes a time in every novice Homo’s life when they have to take that rite of passage. No not that one… Thats another story… The other one. Yes, your first visit to a gay bar. Funnily enough the song of the same name by Electric Six was a hit at the time. Sang to me at regular intervals by the hot straight guy from college I was convinced I could turn.
The pub in question for me was the granddaddy of them all on the Dublin gay scene -THE GEORGE!
Located in Central Dublin, I had often walked by and stared at it’s alluring, purple exterior. In the back of my mind noting that sooner or later, I would tentatively mince through it’s purple doors. And it was to be sooner. Bored and skint, me and my best friend and future hag had decided to go. One drink, that was it. Walk in, have a look around, absorb it all, the faces, smells. I wasn’t expecting to pull, I probably would’ve run a mile had I been approached.
It was a gorgeous, bright Dublin evening, of the type you can just get lost in. I didn’t worry about what to wear. It was a whistle stop visit after all. I settled on a a tight, casual green top from what I can remember, that would extenuate the appalling farmers tan I had accumulated that summer and the obligatory pair of jeans. Every strand of hair was lubricated and gelled to within an inch of its life.
My stomach spoke of pure terror. I walked briskly through the inner city streets, talking a mile a minute to disguise how tense I was feeling. It wasn’t all one way though. There were overwhelming pangs of excitement. All these feelings danced and collided together with such a life affirming gush. Time to taste the rainbow.
The closer we were getting to The George, that stupid feeling of naïve terror persisted to tease me. What was so terrifying? It’s the realisation and culmination of it all. We’ve all been there. Wrestle and grapple with al those feelings. Taking that great leap of faith. I wasn’t blessed with much confidence back then. I envy the younger generation of confident and relaxed gay youths with their heads seemingly screwed on.
The purple cauldron of The George was just in sight as we waited at the traffic lights on Dame Street. We arrived. No fanfare, no epic Europop anthem to soundtrack it all.
I was the youngest thing in there. I could feel every stare and every head that turned. Unbeknown to me at the time, this was the part of the bar frequented by the older clientele. Granted, there were a few relics propping up the bar, there was only a a very small band of people in there. Less than 10 I think, including the bar staff.
Of course my best friend and I hadn’t a pot to piss in at the time. I was mortified walking up to the bar and ordering two glasses of water. The look he gave me. So no money to even grab a pint to knock back and neutralise the anxiety and self consciousness.
Admittedly it was flattering to get those few, paltry stares. All those older eyes must’ve seen so may awkward new pretenders come and go over the years. And here I was. All scrawny body, farmers tan and badly manicured Craig David beard.
We sat in a quiet corner, as you do, sipped our waters and looked around. Absorbed. Took it all in. Sitting in a gay bar in Dublin, knocking back a glass of water. Talk about living the dream. I laugh now. At the time I felt like I’d scaled Everest and erased world poverty.
There was nothing to see. I don’t even know what I wanted to see. I just knew I wanted to be there. Even if there was only a handful of people clutching cigarettes and drinks, sheltered from the impending July dusk.
We didn’t do much the pair of us. I went for a piss intending to make eye contact with everyone, to let them know I was here. On the way back from the toilet I did the same thing. We then found ourselves transfixed by a couple snogging the faces off each other. We tried not to look, but when we did, we giggled incessantly like two schoolgirls. My mate’s face was priceless.
We finished our waters, grabbed a tonne of free gay listings mags and left. A bit of an anti climax but a worthy one. As I laughed my way through the sunlit streets of Dublin, I knew I’d be back. Keep me seat, mine’s a water.
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COLUMN: I Was A Gay Zombie
Halloween is fast approaching, there are Christmas adverts all around and everyone at work is queuing to heat up soup in the microwave. It’s definitely Autumn.