A lovely comment was just posted on Bigger Bitch Than You about a silly DC blog war:

Rob is loving this. He’s been waiting for that group to combust and here it is. VK is out there spilling his name and everyone’s secrets. Roosh, the king of parody blogs, is guiding him in how to do it, and he’s outing confidences from Kathryn along the way. I take it back, Rob isn’t loving it. He’s celebrating! You people are all such idiots. The biggest mistake you did was to turn on each other.

Seriously, kids, I can’t celebrate until all my pansies are shipped and sold!

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Wondering if Big Head Rob still fits into his size 32 Calvin Kleins?

Curious whether Jeff Gannon and Michael Musto shared the same hotel room?

Want to know what Michael thinks about DC bloggers? (Yes, Roosh V, we mean you!)

Then check out this DC Compass video NOW. 

The site, which started last April, is all-video, all-DC all the time.

“We strive to entertain and inform our viewers with video segments that promote what is going on in the city,” says Garrette Moore, executive producer of DC Compass.

And the sexy Pamela Sorensen (who interviewed Musto) is definitely an added allure.

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No wonder we waited ’til today to post the pics: Big Head Rob is currently headlining a Michael Musto item in “La Dolce Musto” about his recent trip to Washington:

PUTTING THE “C-WORD” BACK IN D.C.
As long as I’ve delved into the political pistou: BigheadDC.com’s ROB CAPRICCIOSO just threw me a book party in our nation’s capital, where I became surrounded by mouthy media and tanked twinks. Rob wanted JEFF GANNON—the gay escort turned Republican mole—to co-host, and I went along with it since I generally enjoy mixing strange bedfellows for some sick times. Also, I thought it would be a perverse kick to get Gannon to endorse my book, which is BUSH-bashing and out-gay gay gay. But mainly I wanted to get him to trash the prez. He did so—but only because he feels the guy is not conservative enough. Oy. That’s it for the strange bedfellows!

Anyway, after the party, Wonkette wrote something snarky—no, really, they stretched their muscles and wrote something dismissive and shitty, I swear—smirking that the event wasn’t for real seeing as there were no books on the premises. Honey, the truth is I brought a stash with me and snuck them out all night to the important people! (Or at least the ones who nicely introduced themselves.)

The twinks then followed me in a huge conga line around Dupont Circle, formerly “the fruit loop,” as we mourned the fact that a new stadium in town has caused the demolition of nine gay bars. Hopefully the arena will house many a CHRISTINA AGUILERA concert to make up for it. Bravely, we tracked down the remaining boîtes—like the refreshingly unfabulous Fireplace and the slap-happy Omega, where a friend tipped a go-go boy, only to realize he was just a customer. The guy, flattered, took him home.

The next day brought the inevitable museum trip to see that great work of art—Dorothy’s ruby slippers from The Wizard of Oz! They’re hanging at the Smithsonian, and I assumed I’d have to fight a swarming crowd to get a peek, these being the footwear answer to the Mona Lisa and maybe even the lower-region version of Anna Nicole’s tiara. But nobody seemed to care, maybe because there are six other pairs in the world (including the one Toto chewed on and the one DEBBIE REYNOLDS plays with). Or maybe everyone else is just straight.

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Best blog of the week/maybe century:

I May Have Inadvertently Started a Blog Fight Between Wonkette and Big Head DC

When I arrived at the party last night, I wanted to thank Rob at Big Head DC for the invitation. Having no idea what he looks like, I figured I would just ask the first two people who loked bored enough and who happened to be standing next to me. They didn’t know who Rob was, nor had they heard of the website. We chatted for a bit and I learned some stuff about Rachel Ray. Then I asked the next couple of people that were standing and glancing around awkwardly. Same story. I then figured that the photographers would have to know the host of the party. So I asked this one dude with fancy camera gear and a stylishly mussed hairdo if he knew who Rob was. He didn’t and he looked at me like he was kinda surprised that I was talking to him. My count was now five and o. I got a free pink martini type vodka drink that was pretty sweet. It has the “energy drink shit mixed right in” to quote one excited partier. “It’s got all those extracts and shit that Red Bull has but it tastes sooo much better than regular Red Bull mixed with vodka.” So grabbed one and after having a couple sips, realized that I better not have any more without eating a few plates of food. I then asked a group of two men and one woman if they who Rob was. They didn’t and looked at me like I was speaking Swahili. The drinks were good, but not that good. I was not yet drunk enough to fail to notice the stunning assortment of seriously pretty ladies and the fact that I may have been one of five straight men at the party. I like those odds.

I asked the next group of people and one of them turned out to be Rob’s wife. She introduced me and I said thanks and we chatted about the Tucker incident. Then Rob had to introduce Musto and thank Jeff Gannon for co-hosting the event. This is the point where the train went off the rails in my head like the proverbial needle on a junkie’s turntable. The dude from the nudie pictures that Clif makes fun of? I better finish this drink. Michael Musto read some of Suzanne Somers poetry and then I fell into a conversation with a fascinating AU law student whom I shall likely never see again. Such is the way of things.

Cruising the sites this morning, I found this interesting bit on Wonkette. For the record, I am nobody’s minion. Minions are classed as merely levels 1-5, whereas I am clearly an Epic Level Blogger. I am a Freelance Genius, not a damn minion.

This is funny in a sort of WHA? way.

Hall of fame material here, kids. I only wish that Freelance Genius had more time to blog. If he were my minion, I’d be able to command that he do so. 

P.S. I don’t know what I look like either.

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