This morning CNN reported that a snake ate a family dog as the kids watched.  The 16-foot python swallowed the dog whole as the small children looked on in disbelief.  I’ve heard of harsh methods to teach kids to take responsibility for their pets, but this seems like a bit much.

The Chihuahua never had a chance.  The snake stalked the little guy for days before going in for the kill.  I give the snake kudos, I couldn’t stand the Taco Bell dog either!

Okay, so Ellen DeGeneres is a comic hero of mine, somebody I’ve looked up to for years, before she was gay and everything. Her “endorsement” of Clinton just makes it all so much sweeter.

She’s the best.

My mom drives a massive SUV, a Chevrolet Tahoe to be exact. She’s five feet tall. Picture Estelle Getty at the helm of a big rig, that’s my mom.

She’s a horrible driver, can’t see over the steering wheel. She’ll plow down anything in her path, curbs, flowers, babies.

I guess it doesn’t help matters that she’s also legally blind.

Growing up Mormon, I had never seen a black person in church ever! The first black Mormon I had ever seen was in he subway station in New York City, he was pushing the Book of Mormon on the cynical city dwellers that passed by. I wanted to go up to him and ask, “How can you be a Mormon, you’re people weren’t even allowed in the church until 1978.” I didn’t though.

Shortly after that I learned that the dynamic R & B singer, Gladys Knight, is now Mormon. I guess that midnight train stops in Salt Lake City now.

Growing up gay and Mormon wasn’t easy. Unlike Catholics, I didn’t have Priest’s as mentors.

I’m currently a recovering Mormon. I attend the annual conference. Maybe you’ve heard of it, it happens every year, it’s called the Gay Pride Parade.

Every former Mormon is a gay guy seeking a one man show. Case in point!

You have got to give the religion some credit. You are going to be hard pressed to find another religion that actually advocates sloppy seconds.

So I saw Mr. Rufus (aka King Homosexual of the Land and the Sea), at the theater last night. I couldn’t get great video, but I tried!

*** NEW FEATURE ON THE WEBSITE ***

I am thrilled to introduce the new recipe section of HAlanScott.com. Click here or on the ymmy image of me to the left to be directed to my recipe section. Every week I will add a new recipe, so check back often.

If you weren’t aware, every Friday I serve wonderful homemade cookies at Family Hour with Auntie Sara in Ochi’s Lounge at Comix, 7pm, 353 West 14th Street at the corner of West 14th and 9th Ave, NYC. My secret ingredient, love! Come on down and bite into my love. It’s lovely!

If you’re feeling eager and make one of the recipes, send me an e-mail to let me know how it turned out. I’ll be adding photos and video to the recipes section, it will be so pimped out.

Happy munching!

When I worked in politics I could fake my way through any conversation. I would seem interested in what they were saying, even though in the back of my mind I was really thinking of Shirley MacLaine. Mastering the skills of bullshitting believable expressions is a skill, one in which I seem to have lost in recent years.

My mother is a horrible story teller. A simple story of seeing a woman slip and fall on some cheese at the grocery store goes something like, “So I went to the store to get some milk, cereal, you know how fast the guys go through Frosted Flakes; a chicken to roast for dinner, orange juice and, um, yes, those fruit gummies that Charlie loves so much. Does he ever love those gummies! Well as I was chatting with the lady in charge of the free samples about her son finally sobering up; she was serving the new breakfast sausages they have, delish; this lady was eying the various cheeses’ they have in the fancy cheese counter at the store. Some of the cheese had fallen on the ground and, not seeing the cheese, she slipped and fell. Frances, you know her, she’s the lady in charge of the samples; delish breakfast sausages, really, you should try them, I bet they have them in New York, or Brooklyn, you live in Brooklyn; well, Frances and I just stood there, shocked, not knowing what to do. And then, this is funny, get a pencil, use this in your act; Frances, the sample lady, said, ‘Well at least she didn’t cut the cheese.’ Oh how we laughed, she’s funny, that’s funny, use that. And pick up those sausages!”

I don’t eat pork.

It isn’t even just with long-winded stories. When somebody says, “Do you know this sing,” and then proceeds to sing it, a terrified reaction flashes across my face. You think they’re going to stop at the chorus, but they keep going. The song won’t stop. You’re praying to God it’s not a Meat Loaf song.

During these moments of communication horror, I have lately become incapable of restraining my disdain. I will stand there and nod my head, saying, “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” real quick, hoping to give them the hint that I got it. But they never get the hint, do they? They just keep going. To avoid further discomfort, I will change the subject abruptly. Say they’re talking about the new Kayne West song, half-way through their reenactment of the song (which you know they’ve practiced at home just for this very situation), I will mention something so out of left field that it will force them to stop. I’ll say, “Did you read the new number of people who have been killed in the midst of the Darfur tragedy?” Womp Womp Womp! Total buzz kill, yes, but being the Debbie Downer is the only way to end the karaoke-like hell.

Below is a list of buzz kill topics that have worked for me in times of long-winded hell:

- AIDS, always a go to happiness killer

- Any national disaster, like a tsunami or hurricane

- That wart you just can’t seem to get rid of, or explain

- Irritable Bowel Syndrome

- Screech from “Save by the Bell” having a sex video

My personal favorite…

- The death of a beloved childhood pet

Happy networking!

I have a theory that the root of Obamania lies in the hopes that he will nominate Oprah as his VP.  I suppose that’s not such a bad idea, she could single handedly pay off the national debt and still have enough left over to buy everyone in America a George Forman Grill (it really does cut the fat in half people!).

Alright, I’m going to say it, white people wish they were black.  Not because they want to be pulled over more regularly or have a desire to never see accurate representation on network TV, but rather for the stereotypical reasons.  As stereotypes go, having soul, a dance step or two, and a mean hand in the kitchen ain’t such a bad thing to be known for.  I’m gay but you don’t see me going around singing showtunes with a lisp.  Why?  Because that’s a shitty stereotype!

I support Hillary Clinton.  I live in a culturally diverse area in Brooklyn.  It’s made diverse because I’m the only white guy on the block.  I like living here, I feel comfortable, but I want to be accepted by my neighbors.  On my way to the subway I will wear an Obama button, stand on the platform with my chest out, as if saying, “Look, look, see, I’m down with you guys.”  I’ll blare 2Pac on my iPod.  Standing there, head bouncing back and forth, “Wow, he’s prolific.  What an artist,” I’ll say to the young man standing next to me.  He’ll walk away, but only because he saw or friend or something, yeah, that’s it.

So maybe I should support Obama.  If it will give me street cred, it’s worth it.  And maybe if he does nominate Oprah as VP, then she’ll have some say over his cabinet.  I’m holding out for Dr. Phil to be the Surgeon General and putting Rachael Ray somewhere in there, maybe as the Attorney General.  Now that’s an America I want to live in!