How to do the wrong thing right
As always, whenever unsure of how to guarantee your question will be selected by Howard for publication, never underestimate the mesmerizing allure of that age-old, gay favorite topic eternal—cock size. Everybody loves reading whether or not their own erection measures up, or down, in the bedroom-prowess department; moreover, everybody loves discovering about others equipped, ahem, less fortunate than they.
Let’s get right to the small of it.
My roomie, a self-proclaimed “budding screenwriter,” just came back from one of his “business trips” to L.A. bragging how he got plowed by the most endowed star in Hollywood, but the bitch flat-out refused spilling which Tinseltown luminary owned this supposedly fire hydrant-sized boner — except to feed me some teasing, decoy-drivel that the star is “skinny, craggy-faced, and old enough to be our father” … which basically means any man in show business over 50 with the exceptions of John Goodman and Danny DeVito. What I’m dying to know is: who, in all of planet Hollywood, was literally King Kong-sized capable of expanding my slutty BFF’s “Grand Canyon” any wider than it already is. (It echoes!) Howard, what’s the juicy scuttlebutt you hear about which male star swings La La Land’s biggest billy-stick? — Gossip Joey
The last I swingingly checked, precious, my name wasn’t Perez Hilton; additionally, let me just add (via full homage to Hee-Haw) that I’m not one to go around spreadin’ rumors — really, I’m just not the gossipy kind; why, you’ll never hear Howard repeating gossip … so hunty, you’d better be sure and listen close the first time:
Willem Dafoe, hands down, is rumored to swing a schlong even mythically larger than Hollywood’s golden-age previous penile standard-bearer, Milton Berle. My size-queen grapevine reports that Liam Neeson, James Woods, Snoop Dogg and Jon Hamm are equally packin’ for pleasure rides that, in the immortal lyrics of Macy Gray’s “Caligula,” perfectly sum up their own infamously sought after man-jewels: He’s something like my favorite movie / I wanna see him again and again / He’s like my freight train — he really moves me / When we go out I’m gonna let him in / He’s somethin’ like my 7 Eleven / He got me open like an all night store / He’s like my blue sky — he’s next to heaven / He give me some and then I want some more.
Now, just for the further, juicy fun of it, G.J., assuming one gives any credence whatsoever to Gayville’s size-queen gossip mongers, at the polar opposite end of Hollywood’s himbo-spectrum arise such oft-repeated names as Josh, Brad, Vin, Ashton and Tom … all of whom “allegedly” come up (to all red-blooded men’s Viagra delight!) just a teensy bit, um, short-changed in their shorts.
While cruising porn last night, I ran across pix of my twin baby brother on some famous twink site that shall remain nameless. Dale’s four minutes younger than me, so I’m guessing that what accounts for us being so different: He moved to California three years ago, after dropping out of high school, and hasn’t been home to Dallas again since. He claims he works valet at some fancy Beverly Hills hotel. Dale knows I’m gay, but he never came out to me before he left, or to our parents. Should I tell him I saw pix of him? Do you think he’s working in the porn biz? — Moose
Working in porn? Why, don’t be ridiculous, son: Everybody knows that in California all the parking attendants valet naked and perform sexual requests upon demand for swanky hotel guests. Now, the real question my readers crave an answer to, Moosehead, is whether your porn star twin baby brother’s penis is identical in all particulars (girth, width) to yours; or, is it, maybe, say, actually four inches bigger, even though you’re fully four minutes his elder? And, yes, you should definitely call him; however, I’d refrain from blurting out that you’ve gandered his dick pix on Sean Cody.
How many times do you think a normal gay man gets his heart broken before he’s 30? — Perry, The Heart-Stomped
All hearts start out as glass, but few end up as stone. The trick is never to hate whom our heart gets shattered by; the secret is to never wear too much heart on your sleeve; simply calling it life is the remedy, and one just moves on.
— Howard Lewis Russell
Do you have a question — about etiquette, love, life or work — that needs a special spin from Howard? Send your problem to AskHoward@DallasVoice.com and he may answer it.
This article appeared in the Dallas Voice print edition May 5, 2017.